The subway station was never quiet, but on the night of the third Tuesday in October, it felt like the air itself had been stolen. The fluorescent lights flickered with a low hum, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch just a little too far. Most people hurried through the station, eyes down, ears plugged, avoiding the occasional whisper that drifted from the depths of the tunnel. But some of them stayed. Lena had always taken the 10:47 train to her apartment in the city. It was late, and the platform was nearly empty. She sat on a bench near the edge, watching the flickering lights dance across the tiles. A man in a dark coat stood a few feet away, his face obscured by the brim of his hat. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at the tunnel entrance as if waiting for something—or someone. At 10:48, the train arrived. It wasn’t the usual one. The doors opened with a slow groan, and the car was empty except for a single passenger sitting in the middle seat. Lena hesitated, but the man in the coat moved toward the train without a word. She followed, curiosity outweighing caution. Inside, the air was colder than it should have been. The windows were fogged, and the only sound was the soft click of the train wheels against the tracks. The man sat directly across from her, still silent. When she finally spoke, her voice sounded foreign in the stillness. "Is this the right train?" she asked. He looked up, and for the first time, she saw his face. It was pale, almost translucent, and his eyes were sunken, like they hadn’t seen light in years. He didn’t answer. Instead, he pointed to the window. Outside, the tunnel was dark, but there was something moving in the distance—shapes, shifting and twisting, like smoke caught in a current. Lena pressed her hand against the glass, trying to make sense of it. The shapes grew closer, and then, suddenly, they stopped. They hovered just beyond the train, as if waiting. The man in the coat leaned forward. "You’re not supposed to be here," he said, his voice like rusted metal. "This isn’t your stop." Lena’s breath caught. "Where are we going?" He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. He handed it to her. It was blank, but when she touched it, the words appeared: *Turn back before it’s too late.* She looked up, but the man was gone. The train had stopped, and the tunnel was completely dark now. The doors creaked open, revealing a platform she had never seen before. The walls were lined with old, faded posters advertising trains that no longer ran. The floor was covered in dust, and the air smelled of damp wood and forgotten time. Lena stepped onto the platform, heart pounding. She turned around, expecting the train to be gone, but it was still there, its doors open, waiting. She could feel something watching her, something ancient and patient. A voice echoed from the tunnel. "You came back." Lena spun around, but no one was there. She took a step back toward the train, but the doors began to close slowly, as if they were being controlled by an invisible hand. Panic surged through her. She ran, but the tunnel stretched endlessly, the walls narrowing, the air thickening. The whispers returned, louder now, overlapping in a chorus of voices speaking in languages she didn’t understand. She stumbled into a room, the walls lined with old photographs. Each one showed the same station, but in different eras—some from decades ago, others from centuries past. In every photo, there was a woman standing on the platform, wearing the same red coat as Lena. Her face was always blurred, but her eyes were clear, watching. Lena backed away, but the door behind her slammed shut. The photographs began to shift, their images changing. Now, she was in the photos, standing beside the woman in the red coat. The woman smiled, and Lena realized she was looking at herself. The whispers stopped. Silence filled the room, heavy and absolute. Then, a voice whispered in her ear, soft and familiar: "You were always here." Lena gasped, and the world around her dissolved into darkness. When she opened her eyes, she was back on the original platform, the 10:47 train long gone. The man in the coat was nowhere to be seen. Her hands trembled as she clutched the blank paper, now covered in the same words: *Turn back before it’s too late.* She didn’t know if she had ever truly left.