The rain fell in silver sheets over the abandoned station.

Rowan Vale pulled his coat collar higher and checked his watch: 11:46 p.m. He should have been home hours ago. Instead, he stood on the cracked edge of Platform 9 like he had every night for the past three weeks.

He told himself it was just insomnia. A weird habit. Nothing more.

The tracks hummed before the train even appeared. A low, metallic vibration that traveled up through his shoes. Then the headlights sliced through the darkness — two cold, yellow eyes.

The train glided to a stop with a tired sigh of brakes. Every window was dark except the first car. The doors opened with a mechanical hiss.

Rowan stepped inside.

The carriage smelled of wet wool and old electricity. He took his usual seat near the middle, wiped rain from his face, and closed his eyes. The train began to move.

He was alone. He was always alone.

Until tonight.

A soft rustle came from the back of the car. Rowan opened his eyes and turned slowly.

A woman sat in the last row. Black coat. Long dark hair partially hiding her face. She was watching him with calm, unblinking eyes.

Rowan’s stomach tightened. He had never seen another passenger before.

She smiled faintly, as if they were old friends.

“Evening, Rowan,” she said. Her voice was soft, almost kind.

He stood up, gripping the pole. “How do you know my name?”

“You told me last night,” she replied. “And the night before that. And the night before that.”

Rowan laughed — a short, nervous sound. “Lady, I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

The woman tilted her head. The passing tunnel lights flickered across her face.

“That’s what you always say.”

The train suddenly jerked. Rowan grabbed the pole tighter. When he looked back, the woman was sitting one row closer.

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.

“Do you remember what you did on June 14th last year?” she asked gently.

Rowan felt ice crawl down his spine. June 14th was the night his brother died.

The woman’s eyes softened with something like pity.

“I thought so,” she whispered. “That’s why you keep coming back.”

The lights flickered again. When they steadied, she was sitting only three rows away. Rainwater dripped from her hair onto the floor.

Rowan backed toward the connecting door.

The train showed no signs of stopping.

And the woman kept smiling..