The icy wind was still whipping my hair when the heavy iron door of the carriage clicked open. I scrambled to hide the journal inside my jacket, but the silver light of the map was too bright, spilling through my fingers.
A man stepped out onto the open deck. He was dressed in a sharp, charcoal-gray suit and a perfectly blocked bowler hat—an outfit that looked at least a century out of date. He didn't glance at the passing scenery, nor at my torn, dirt-streaked clothes. His eyes, a striking shade of violet, were locked entirely on the glowing parchment in my hands.
He leaned casually against the doorframe, a calm, knowing smile spreading across his face.
"I was beginning to worry you wouldn't make it," he said. His voice was incredibly smooth, yet it sent a fresh shiver down my spine. "I've been waiting for you a very long time. Now, shall we step inside and take a seat? We have much to discuss before this train reaches the edge of the world."
The cabin inside was absurdly luxurious, lined with dark mahogany and smelling faintly of bergamot and old paper. The man gestured toward a plush velvet armchair. Before I could process the surreal situation, he was already pouring steaming amber liquid into two delicate porcelain cups.
"Your grandfather, Arthur, was a brilliant but utterly stubborn man," he said, pushing a cup across the small table.
I froze, the map still clutched tightly to my chest. "You knew him?"
"Knew him? I fought beside him," the man chuckled softly, though his violet eyes remained entirely serious. "Fifty years ago, we stole that very map from the Archives of the Sun. It doesn't just point to an island, my young friend. It points to a prison—the original cage built for those shadow creatures hunting you. And unfortunately for both of us, its lock is breaking."