The tram station was neither abandoned nor fully alive — it existed in a state of tolerated neglect, like a place the city had decided was useful enough not to erase.
Some signs had been scratched over, replaced by newer markings that never quite aligned with the old grooves beneath them.
Digital boards flickered overhead, their projections jittering between destinations. A route name would appear, distort, then correct itself a second later, as if embarrassed by the mistake. Below the glowing text, someone had taped paper notices directly onto the air — handwritten schedules, warnings, arrows pointing in conflicting directions. The paper curled at the edges, refusing to fully adhere to light.
The benches were wood once. Reinforced now with steel plates bolted crudely along their legs. The surface bore shallow dents of being used. People waiting too long. Shifting weight.
Vendors occupied half-shuttered stalls along the platform's edge. They polished cups that were already clean. Adjusted displays that no one browsed. Their movements were repetitive, careful — the kind of work done to appear busy when attention itself felt dangerous.
People stood in loose lines that weren't quite queues.
No one spoke above a murmur. Conversations died quickly, as if words had weight here. Some commuters stared at the tracks. Others at the boards. A few at nothing at all, eyes unfocused, bodies aligned to routine rather than intention.
The station hummed. A layered sound of old generators, modern signal relays, and something deeper that felt like the city breathing through the rails.
It was the kind of place where anomalies passed unnoticed as long as they behaved.
"Where are we? I don't remember this station being on the tram route." Mara asked.
"Don't question it. Not now. A lot of things exist in the city which people are rather clueless about."
Mara wasn't convinced with that answer but she stayed silent.
The place gave her strange vibes which she did not want to peer into for the sake of her own sanity.
People waited.
Too neatly. Too quietly.
Mara slowed instinctively.
"Blend," Gray murmured. "Now."
They folded into the crowd as a drone descended from the ceiling, lens swiveling and scanning.
Mara felt pressure behind her eyes—records cross-checking absence.
The keepsong chimed again.
Soft. Curious.
A man nearby snapped his head up. "Hey! That noise—your device isn't registered!"
Another woman cut in. "Why's it making that sound now? It wasn't doing that earlier."
Voices rose. A minor argument bloomed—sharp, emotional, human.
The drone swiveled toward the disturbance.
"Nice timing," Gray muttered.
"I didn't do that!" Mara whispered.
"I know," he said. "That's why it worked."
A public announcement crackled overhead, slightly off-pitch.
TRAM DELAY—ROUTE REALIGNMENT IN PROGRESS
The crowd shifted automatically. Someone stepped forward to complain. The drone's attention snapped fully away from them.
Mara
The tram screeched into the station, sparks flying as metal met rail. Its exterior was scarred, old logos bleeding through newer paint. Doors slid open with a tired hiss.
They boarded.
Inside, the carriage was cramped, lit by dim amber strips. Brass handrails were warm from use. Advertisements flickered—some decades old, others glitching into unreadable symbols.
Mara exhaled shakily.
Then she felt it.
Someone was watching them.
Across the carriage, a man sat perfectly still, eyes fixed on her reflection in the window.
Mara stiffened. "Gray—"
"Don't," he said quietly. "Ignore him."
"He's staring."
"Yes," he replied. "And if you acknowledge it, you become interesting."
The tram lurched forward before the doors fully sealed.
Mara staggered. Gray caught her arm.
"Thanks," she breathed.
"Don't thank me yet."
The tram plunged into the tunnel.
The windows reflected too much.
Mara saw herself—then another version, slightly delayed.
Her scar flared painfully.
The keepsong thrummed, steadying the reflections until they snapped back into one.
Three stops passed without the tram slowing.
"That's not normal," Mara said.
"No," Gray agreed. "That's it letting us go."
"And after?"
He met her gaze. "It starts watching properly."
Then, suddenly, tram screeched to a halt at a maintenance platform open to the rain-washed air. Neon light from the city skyline bled across antique towers, circuitry wrapped around history like scaffolding.
They stepped off.
The tram departed immediately as though it was happy to get rid of them.
Above the platform, a public board flickered.
ANOMALOUS TRANSIT EVENT LOGGED
NO INCIDENT RECORDED
Mara sighed, breathless. "That's bullshit."
"That's policy." Gray replied.
The keepsong cooled in her palm.
It had begun raining quite heavily. It made the platform floor damp. The rain felt intentional. There weren't any officials or drones around. It felt like they were meant to escape and be here.
They didn't move at first.
The rain slowed to a thin, metallic hiss against the platform, each drop striking steel and vanishing without echo. The city above them continued on, forgiving itself with routine.
Mara's hands were trembling. She clenched them until her nails bit into her palms.
The maintenance platform emptied slowly, the city resuming its careful rhythm as if nothing had happened. Rain ticked against exposed metal. Somewhere above, a tram screamed and was forgiven for it.
She broke the silence first.
"Explain," she said.
Gray glanced at her. "That's not a question."
She could feel the words stacking up inside her, sharp and breathless, years of practiced quiet cracking all at once.
"I don't care," she snapped. "You know what I mean. I've been dragged through a place that shouldn't exist, almost erased by some strange room, nearly dissected by the city itself—and you're standing there like this is just another bad commute."
He exhaled. "It's not another commute."
"Then start talking. That voice in the Nursery," she said. "The one that spoke like it knew me. Like it knew you. You didn't flinch when it spoke. You weren't surprised."
He closed his eyes.
Her throat tightened. "What is it?"
Gray finally turned.
Up close, his expression looked wrong—too composed for someone who'd just run from a place that erased people. Too familiar with fear.
"It's not something you explain on a wet platform," he said carefully.
"Then start anyway," Mara snapped. "Because I'm done being led around by fragments and half-truths."
She stepped closer. "That voice knew my name. It knew your name. 'Gray.'"
Her eyes searched his face. "It said it's helping me. Why does it care about me?"
Gray's jaw flexed.
"It doesn't care," he said. "It compensates."
"That's not comforting."
"It's not meant to be."
She laughed once, sharp and brittle. "Everything in my life just vanished, my entire world turned upside down and you're speaking like this is a maintenance issue."
He inhaled slowly. "Mara—"
"No," she cut in. "Don't soften it."
Silence stretched between them.
"I want to know who that voice was. I want to know what that place does. I want to know why the city is watching me, why it erased Sene, why I can still remember her, and why that thing—"
she tapped the keepsong hard against her chest,
"—keeps reacting like it knows what's about to happen before I do."
Then Gray sighed, long and heavy, like a door finally unlatching.
"I am not all knowing. Those are a lot of questions i don't have answers to." he said.
"I'll tell you all i know. But once I start, there's no going back."
"I don't care." Mara declared.
He opened his mouth.
The sound hit first.
A piercing, metallic ring, impossibly clean, like a tuning fork struck inside the skull. Not loud—exact. It bypassed air, bypassed ears, and went straight into bone.
Gray gasped.
His hand flew to his head as he staggered back. "No—no, not now—"
"Mara—don't—"
His legs folded beneath him.
"Gray!" She lunged forward, catching him just before he hit the ground. His body was rigid, breath shallow, teeth clenched so hard she thought they might crack.
"What did you do?" she shouted, panic exploding. "What is this—who's doing this—"
The ring came again.
Closer.
Stronger.
Mara screamed as the world fractured violently, her vision tearing at the edges like paper soaked in water. The platform tilted, sound stretching and warping until it felt distant and unreal.
Her knees gave out.
She hit the ground beside him, the cold of the concrete biting through her clothes.
For a moment—just one unbearable moment—everything went quiet.
And then Sene was there.
Not as she was at the end. Not fading.
Laughing. Tugging at her sleeve. Smelling faintly of citrus and cheap perfume.
You wander too much, Sene said. One day you won't come back.
"I'm trying," Mara whispered, tears blurring her vision. "I swear I'm trying."
The darkness closed in, swift and absolute.
—
Pain woke her.
Dull. Constricting.
Her wrists burned first. Then her shoulders. Something rough bit into her skin when she shifted.
Rope.
Mara sucked in a breath and forced her eyes open.
Neon light swayed overhead, dim and unsteady. The air was thick with smoke, alcohol, and old metal. A counter reinforced with scrap steel loomed nearby, bottles lined up behind it like trophies.
A bar.
Underground.
She tried to move.
The rope held.
"Great," a familiar voice muttered behind her. "They tied us back-to-back. That's personal."
"Gray?" Her voice came out hoarse.
"Still here," he said. "Which means whatever hit us wasn't meant to kill."
She tested the bindings again, slower this time. The rope was tight, deliberate. Whoever had done this knew what they were doing.
Footsteps echoed above them. Laughter. Music—off-key, distorted through old speakers.
"This isn't the city," Mara whispered.
"No," Gray agreed. "This is people."
She leaned her head back against his shoulder without thinking, exhaustion crashing into fear.
"You were about to explain," she said quietly.
"I know."
"And the voice?"
He was silent for a beat.
"It's connected to me," he said finally. "But not the way you think."
Her pulse quickened. "Is it the reason Sene—"
"I don't know," he said, sharper now. "And if I did, I wouldn't lie to you about that."
Gray shifted against the rope. "When we get out of this," he said under his breath, "I'll tell you everything I can."
"And if we don't?"
He exhaled. "Then at least you'll know I tried."
Mara tightened her fists.
Somewhere in the city above, systems adjusted.
And somewhere deeper still, something listened.