The subway was always different after midnight. Most people never noticed, but those who did—those who worked late shifts or stayed up too late—knew the rules. The lights flickered, the air grew colder, and the usual hum of distant conversations faded into something else. No one ever spoke of it, but the city's underground had its own rhythm, one that only the most observant could feel. One night, a man named Eli found himself on the 4th Avenue line, heading home from a shift at the diner. He had missed the last train and was forced to take the midnight express. The car was empty except for an old woman in a moth-eaten coat, who sat in the corner, her eyes fixed on the floor. Eli didn’t think much of it. He had seen stranger things in the city. As the train passed through the tunnel, the lights dimmed. A low, humming sound filled the air, like the echo of a thousand whispers. The woman suddenly looked up, her eyes glowing faintly in the dark. She smiled, a slow, knowing smile, and pointed to the window. Outside, the tunnel walls were no longer concrete but something else—smooth, black stone, covered in symbols that pulsed with a soft blue light. Eli’s breath caught in his throat. He turned back to the woman, but she was gone. The seat beside him was empty. The train was still moving, but the world outside had changed. The symbols on the walls shifted, rearranging themselves into shapes that resembled faces, some familiar, others not. He pressed his hand against the glass, but it felt cold, almost alive. The train came to a stop at a station he had never seen before. The nameplate read "Elysian Station," which wasn’t on any map he knew. A sign above the platform said, “Passengers may exit at their own risk.” The doors opened with a slow, deliberate creak. The air smelled of damp earth and old paper. Eli hesitated. He told himself to turn back, to wait for the next train, but something pulled him forward. The platform was wide and empty, lined with tall pillars that seemed to breathe. At the far end, a set of stairs led upward, disappearing into darkness. A faint voice called out, “You’re not supposed to be here.” Eli spun around. No one was there. He took a step toward the stairs, then another. The deeper he went, the more the air thickened, as if the space itself was resisting his presence. At the top, he found a small room with a single door. It was made of wood, not metal, and the handle was warm to the touch. He opened it. Inside was a library, books stacked haphazardly on every surface. The shelves were labeled in languages he couldn’t recognize, but some of the titles were familiar—*The Book of Forgotten Days*, *Whispers from the Deep*. A desk sat in the center, and on it lay a journal with his name written in neat, flowing script. He picked it up. The pages were filled with entries from his own handwriting, but they weren’t memories. They were accounts of other people’s lives, moments he had never experienced. One entry described a woman who had fallen asleep on the same train, only to wake up in a different city, with no memory of how she got there. Another told of a child who had disappeared after stepping off the platform at Elysian Station. Eli closed the journal, his hands trembling. He heard footsteps behind him. When he turned, the door was gone. In its place was a mirror, reflecting not his face, but a version of himself wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase. The reflection smiled and waved. A deep, resonant bell rang somewhere in the distance. The library began to shake, the books falling from the shelves. Eli ran back down the stairs, the corridor now twisting in ways that defied logic. The train was gone. The tunnels stretched endlessly in all directions. He stumbled into a new station, this one familiar but wrong. The posters said the time was 3:17 AM, but the clock on the wall showed 12:00. The platform was empty, save for a single seat where the old woman sat, watching him with the same knowing smile. “You’ve been here before,” she said softly. “But you don’t remember.” Eli opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. The train arrived, its doors sliding open with a sound like a sigh. He stepped inside, the doors closing behind him just as the woman vanished. The lights returned, the air warmed, and the train resumed its normal route. When he finally reached his stop, he stepped onto the platform, heart pounding. The station was the same as always, but something was different. The clocks all showed 12:00. And in the distance, a faint whisper echoed through the tunnels, saying, “Welcome back.”