Detective Alan Cole adjusted his tie, his reflection a fragmented blur in the grimy train window. The carriage rattled as the midnight train sped through the rain-soaked countryside. Outside, lightning illuminated the landscape in brief, eerie flashes. Inside, a handful of passengers sat scattered, their faces bathed in the dim yellow glow of the overhead lights.
Cole’s eyes scanned the carriage, pausing briefly on each passenger. A young woman typing furiously on her laptop. A tired businessman nursing a paper cup of coffee. An elderly couple whispering softly. And in the far corner, a man in a black coat, his hat pulled low over his face.
Cole’s hand instinctively moved to his pocket, where a folded photograph lay hidden. It showed the face of a man—sharp features, a scar running down his left cheek. A dangerous fugitive. And according to Cole’s informant, this train was his escape route.
The train’s wheels screeched as it entered a tunnel, plunging the carriage into near darkness. Cole felt a prickling at the back of his neck, a sixth sense honed from years on the force. He glanced back at the man in the black coat, who now seemed to be staring directly at him.
Cole stood, his movements deliberate, and approached. “Ticket, please,” he said, flashing his badge.
The man tilted his head, his lips curling into a faint smile. “A detective, on a train like this? You’re either very dedicated… or very desperate.”
Cole’s jaw tightened. “Your ticket,” he repeated.
The man reached into his coat slowly and produced a ticket. It was valid. His name, however, was not. “Evan Moore,” he said, the smile never leaving his face. “Now, Detective, why don’t you show me yours?”
The tension between them thickened as the train emerged from the tunnel. Evan gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit. Let’s talk.”
Cole hesitated but complied, his hand still hovering near his weapon. “You seem to know a lot about me,” he said.
Evan chuckled softly. “Oh, I know more than a lot. I know why you’re here. I know who you’re after. And I know you’re not going to find him.”
Cole’s pulse quickened. “What do you mean?”
Evan leaned forward, his eyes glinting with something between amusement and malice. “Because the man you’re hunting isn’t on this train.”
The train slowed, pulling into a small, deserted station. Evan stood, adjusting his coat. “You’ve been chasing shadows, Detective. But I’ll give you one clue. The person you should be worried about… is much closer than you think.”
Before Cole could respond, the lights flickered and went out. A scream echoed through the carriage, followed by the sound of a struggle. When the lights returned, Evan was gone, and the young woman with the laptop lay unconscious on the floor, blood trickling from a wound on her temple.
The next hours were a blur of chaos. Cole tried to piece together what had happened, questioning passengers and examining the scene. The businessman claimed he saw nothing. The elderly couple insisted they’d been asleep. And Evan Moore had vanished without a trace.
As dawn broke, the train pulled into its final station. Cole’s frustration boiled over as he disembarked. But as he reached for his pocket to retrieve the photograph of the fugitive, he froze.
It was gone.
A week later, Cole sat in his office, replaying the events of that night in his mind. His phone buzzed, a message from an unknown number:
“Nice meeting you, Detective. You’re chasing the wrong man.”
Cole’s blood ran cold as he opened the attached photo. It was a picture of himself, sitting across from Evan on the train.
