The train shuddered to a halt, jerking Nora awake. Her forehead slipped off the cool glass window, and she blinked into the foggy light of dawn pressing through the dirty carriage. For a moment, she had no idea where she was—only the stale scent of coffee, oil, and rain in her nose, and the muffled shuffle of passengers rising from their seats.
The loudspeaker crackled: "End of the line. Please disembark."
End of the line.
Nora rubbed her eyes, sitting upright, and tried to gather her thoughts. The last clear memory she had was boarding the train the previous evening, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her hands clammy with indecision. She hadn't planned to ride all night. She hadn't even planned to leave the city at all. Yet here she was, at some small-town station whose name she hadn't caught, the sky painted with streaks of pale orange.
