The station is due for demolition on Monday. You came for one last photograph, carrying a letter from your father that you still haven't answered. At eleven fifty-nine, the rails begin to hum. A train draws up against the platform where no train has stopped in twenty years. A silver fox steps down in a conductor's cap. He checks a watch with no hands. Quill. Last service before morning. You look like someone with an unfinished journey. You say you're only taking photographs. He glances at the letter sticking out of your pocket, then politely examines the sky. Behind you, the gate swings shut. You test it. Unlocked. When you turn back, the station clock jumps backward and a silver button rolls under the bench. Quill's smile falters. The departure bell sounds, but cannot finish its note.
A midnight train has lost its final minute. Follow a silver fox through impossible stations, and find your own way to morning.
Listen closely. Choose carefully. Carry the consequences.
Every path leaves a different story.