CHAPTER 1: The Station That Was Never Empty

Aaron Cole arrived at Westbridge Station before sunrise.

The train that carried him there did not linger. Its doors opened, released him onto the platform, and closed again with practiced indifference. Within moments, it was gone—its sound fading into the distance, leaving behind only vibration and quiet.

Aaron stood still.

The platform clock ticked steadily above him, its hands moving with confidence despite the thin layer of dust that covered its frame. The benches were empty, but not unused. The floor carried the faint marks of footsteps layered over time, some hurried, some slow, some uncertain.

This station was never empty.

It was simply between uses.

Aaron unlocked the station office and stepped inside.

The room smelled faintly of metal and old paper. A ledger sat on the desk, its cover worn smooth, opened to a page dated months earlier. No entries followed. No notes explained the silence.

He set his bag down and looked out through the wide window facing the tracks.

Two lines ran straight through Westbridge.

They did not curve.

They did not pause.

They passed through.

By mid-morning, the town stirred.

A woman crossed the platform without boarding. A man stood near the schedule board longer than necessary, reading times he did not intend to follow. A teenager sat on a bench with a notebook closed on their lap, staring at nothing in particular.

No one asked Aaron questions.

They did not need information.

They needed permission to pause.

At noon, a freight train thundered through without stopping.

The platform vibrated. Wind followed the cars, lifting dust and sound before letting both fall back into place.

When it passed, everything felt the same.

But something had shifted.

That afternoon, Aaron opened the ledger.

A new line had appeared.

Not a name.

A note.

Paused here. Did not leave.

Aaron closed the book slowly.

Westbridge Station was not forgotten.

It was waiting.

And now, so was he.