The passengers are here, asleep in compartments. Their door cards read For permission, For the fear to pass, For the right moment. At the corridor's end, a girl tries to sew an invisible button onto her cuff. She cups the empty space when you approach. Nell, she says. She's going to a morning when her mother is better. You ask where her mother is. At home. They said recovering takes time. Nobody would tell me how much. Her real needle is tucked into a packet on the suitcase. You offer to help search for the missing button. She shakes her head and hurries through the connecting door. Quill pretends to inspect a luggage rack until she is gone. That destination has grown more exact every time she names it. You take the abandoned sewing packet. Blue thread trails from its corner.
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.