But the moment I crossed the station’s archway and stepped into the town, something hit me.
Hard.
It was like walking into a wall made of air. A cold, thick and heavy air. When my foot hit the ground outside the station, my lungs forgot how to work. I blinked, tried to breathe, and then I realised that I was dizzy.
The kind of dizziness that starts in your chest, rises to your head, and makes the world feel like it just tilted a degree sideways.
My heart dropped into my stomach like a stone thrown down a deep well. The ground didn’t move, but I did. Just a little stagger. My knees gave a warning twitch, as though they weren’t entirely on my side anymore.
My skin tightened, goosebumps surging up both arms.
The air felt different.
The station behind me buzzed like any other. But out here, beyond the archway, the air was quiet.
Too quiet.
The town stretched in front of me indifferently, like it hadn’t just reached into my chest and clenched. Houses sat shoulder to shoulder, stacked in neat little rows. They weren’t run-down, but they weren’t new either. Stone foundations. Sloped roofs. A few still had woodenbeams exposed across their fronts, some shops had their signs creaking in the breeze.
There were satellite dishes on the roofs. But also ancient chimneys. An old pharmacy. But also a working ATM beside it.
A kid raced past me with a smartphone in one hand and no shoes on, giggling softly like the world hadn’t ended here once.
The town wasn’t outdated, not really—but it wasn’t modern either. It sat somewhere in between, like it had refused to be pulled forward with the rest of the world.
A man passed by on a bicycle, nodding politely. I nodded back, still dazed, still rattled. The streets curved and dipped slightly, lined with lamps that hadn’t come on yet, and over the rooftops, I could see distant hills wrapped in a low, clinging mist.
I took a step further in, drawn without realising. It was as if something had grabbed a string inside me and tugged.
Dusk had started to settle, casting the town in soft lavender and gold.
And the air—God, the air was colder than it should’ve been. It slipped into my lungs and coiled there in not a painful, but a possessive way. It wrapped around my bones, licked at the back of my neck, and slithered down my spine.
I didn’t know how long I walked—maybe minutes. Maybe hours. But every breath I took made the cold worse.
The town wasn’t dead.
It was breathing.
And with each step I took, it breathed me in.
It should’ve terrified me.
Instead I felt...awake. Like every nerve in my body had just come online for the first time.
And then I remembered my boxes.
“Shit,” I muttered, spinning around so fast the street blurred for a second. I ran back the way I’d come, scanning for headlights.
A black car cruised slowly down the street, windows half-down, music low.
I stepped in front of it without thinking. The driver hit the brakes, startled. I leaned in before he could yell.
“Station,” I said, breathing hard. “I have four boxes you could help me with. You in?”
“You got money?”
I nodded. “A lot of it.”
