The train clattered onward with that peculiar rhythm only iron can sing—clank, hiss, rattle, sigh—like a tired god trying to hum itself to sleep.
Every jolt vibrated up through the floorboards and into my bones, a steady reminder that this tin coffin was hurtling through the bowels of the prison with us rattling around inside like dice in the hands of fate.
I leaned back against a stack of crates, fanning myself with a torn scrap of parchment that had once been a shipping manifest.
"Remind me again," I said, turning to Dregan, who was perched beside the crate across from me, chewing on what looked suspiciously like a chunk of coal, "why exactly we had to risk our necks to stay under the conductor’s radar? Surely, there’s a more dignified way to smuggle oneself into damnation. Keeping a low profile like this is far too much effort."
"That ’effort,’ as you so poetically put it, is the reason you’re still alive," someone said from behind me.
I nearly jumped out of my skin, spinning around with the grace of a startled cat. "Saints above—Victor! Must you materialize like a phantom every time I achieve a moment of inner peace?"
He stood there, the picture of quiet authority—cloak immaculate, hair tied back, expression carved from stone. "If you’d paid attention during our planning," he said coolly, "you’d know that this train passes through several checkpoints. Each one requires the conductor’s authorization to proceed."
I blinked, still catching my breath. "Ah, yes, of course. Checkpoints. Authorization. Very dramatic. And here I thought we were just riding into the sunset on a river of stolen goods."
His brow twitched infinitesimally. "Your ignorance would be endearing if it weren’t so consistent."
"I try to keep my talents evenly distributed," I said brightly. "Charm, wit, selective incompetence—it’s all about balance."
He ignored that entirely, stepping past me to inspect the cargo. "Once we reach that checkpoint, the guard patrols double. We’ll need to stay invisible from then on. The conductor will handle the verification. But if he fails—"
"I assume we all die horribly," I said. "Splendid. I do so adore a consistent theme."
Victor didn’t reply. He rarely did when sarcasm was involved, which, given the company, must have made his existence one long endurance trial.
I turned back to the others. They were currently staring daggers at the beastman, who had started playing with Malrick’s hair, making the man squeak like a startled mouse. Mia was sitting in the corner, arms crossed tight, her jaw clenched. Her gaze was fixed firmly on the far wall as though willing herself into another dimension.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I sighed, "please refrain from murdering each other before lunch. I’m very attached to all of you—mostly in the sense that I’d hate to have to find replacements."
Before anyone could retort, a faint scuffle echoed from the back of the car.
Every head turned at once.
It was soft at first, almost dismissible—the shuffle of boots on wood, the whisper of breath—but then came another, sharper sound, something bumping against a crate.
My pulse quickened. "What the hell was that?" I whispered.
I crept toward the noise, each step slow and deliberate, scanning between crates stacked high enough to blot out most of the flickering light. Shadows danced along the floor, long and twitching. Then, just as I peered between two boxes, a small head ducked out of sight.
"What in the—?" I began, but before the thought finished forming, a figure burst from behind the crates, darting for the door to the next car.
Instinct took over. I lunged, grabbing the back of his collar and yanking him down. The two of us tumbled to the floor in a graceless heap before my knee connected with his ribs, and he let out a surprisingly high-pitched squeal.
"Stop struggling!" I hissed, pinning him down.
"I yield! I yield!" he cried, voice breaking halfway through the word as he squirmed under me like a trapped rabbit.
I blinked. He couldn’t have been older than fourteen—small, wiry, soot-stained, with a mop of dirty blond hair and cheeks smudged black with coal. His eyes were too big for his face, wide and terrified, and his teeth looked a touch too sharp in the dim light.
"Saints preserve me," I muttered, letting go and rocking back on my heels. "What are you doing here?"
He sat up slowly, coughing, his voice trembling. "P-please don’t hurt me!"
I blinked. The boy glanced past me at the beastman, who crouched lower, peering over a crate with glowing eyes like a cat about to pounce at it’s prey. "I—I just—I didn’t mean to hide! I was just—just trying not to get crushed when the train started moving! Honest!"
I crossed my arms, tapping a finger against my elbow. "You picked an odd hiding spot," I said, studying the trembling shape before me. "So, tell me—who exactly are you then? A spy? A stowaway? Some sort of gremlin?"
He fidgeted, eyes darting from my face to the floorboards. "I—I’m the conductor’s apprentice," he stammered.
That stopped me cold. "You’re what?"
His gaze darted up, shy and uncertain. "The conductor’s apprentice, sir. Been workin’ with him for a year now. He—he don’t let me ride up front when there’s company, says I talk too much."
My mouth opened, then closed again. "So you’re telling me that the man responsible for operating a several-ton metal death engine is letting a child work in the deepest pit of this gods-forsaken prison?"
He nodded in earnest. "It’s honest work!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Oh, darling, there’s no such thing as honest work down here."
He blinked, confused. "What’s dishonest about driving a train?"
I sighed solemnly, not even bothering to reply.
By now the others had gathered, forming a loose half-circle around us. The poor boy looked between them like a cornered animal. "Please," he stammered. "Don’t throw me off! I—I didn’t see nothin’, I swear!"
"He’s adorable," Dregan said with a wicked grin to his face. "Can we keep him?"
"Absolutely not," I said. "I’ve got enough problems raising you lot."
The boy’s lip trembled. "I’m Dunny by the way," he whispered, as if offering his name might spare him. "Dunny Brackle. I won’t tell nobody you’re here. Just—please don’t let him eat me." His eyes flicked nervously toward the beastman again.
I sighed. "Relax. He doesn’t eat children. Not unless he’s bored."
Dunny let out a squeak that could’ve shattered glass.
I crouched, lowering my voice. "Listen, Dunny. You want to stay alive? Then you keep quiet. You saw nothing, you heard nothing, and you definitely didn’t meet a charming, dashing fugitive named Loona. Understand?"
He nodded so fast I thought his head might detach. "Y-yes, sir!"
"Good lad." I smiled sweetly before patting him on the shoulder.
He hesitated, then frowned. "You’re planning to escape, aren’t you?"
The question caught me off guard, but I didn’t hesitate. "Yes."
His jaw dropped. For a long second, he just stared at me. Then—bizarrely—he started to laugh. A small, incredulous sound that built into full giggles.
I arched an eyebrow. "I wasn’t aware I’d told a joke."
Between chuckles, he managed, "Escape? From here? You’re mad! Nobody escapes! Not from this prison. The High Warden sees everything. He—he’s a genius! He runs this place like clockwork!"
Ah. Idol worship. Adorable and pathetic in equal measure. I tilted my head. "Tell me, Dunny—has this ’genius’ of yours ever let you outside to see the sky?"
The laughter faltered before looking down. "No, sir."
"Then maybe he’s not as clever as you think." I straightened, brushing dust from my skirt. "But don’t worry. We’ll be gone before he even knows we were here."
He didn’t answer, just watched me with that uneasy mix of fear and fascination I’d long since grown used to.
Before the silence could grow awkward, the door to the next car rattled open and Brutus stepped through, ducking under the frame. "The conductor’s still rambling," he said gruffly. "Something about his ex-wives and how they all ran off with chimney sweepers."
I smirked up at him. "Charming."
"Also," Brutus added, "we’re coming up on the first checkpoint."
Just then, a low whistle echoed through the car, long and mournful, like the sigh of some buried titan stirring in its sleep. The rhythm beneath our feet began to change—the steady clatter of wheels shifting into a labored groan as the train’s momentum bled away. Steam hissed from unseen vents, filling the air with a thick, metallic breath.
Brutus glanced behind him, toward the front of the train, his expression tightening. "Ah, speak of the devil."
My pulse quickened. "Positions!" I hissed.
The crew moved fast. Crates shifted, lids cracked open. Mia vanished behind stacked containers. Dregan dragged a tarp over the beastman, who grumbled low but complied, his massive form disappearing beneath the cover like a mountain pretending to be modest.
Even Dunny scurried to the corner of the car, trembling but quiet.
Brutus started toward the front again. I followed suit. He turned to face me then, glaring over his shoulder. "What are you doing? You should be hiding."
I flashed him my most disarming smile. "Oh, come on, I wouldn’t dream of letting you have all the fun. Besides, if things go south, you’ll need someone charming to talk our way out."
He snorted. "You’re not charming—you’re a walking migraine."
"And yet you’d be lost without me."
He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
The train gave one final groan before shuddering to a halt. I felt the air shift—the hush that follows anticipation. Brutus drew a slow breath, then pushed open the door.
"Alright," he muttered, "let’s see if your silver tongue’s worth the headache."