“Penelope. What’s yours?”
“Kyrian.”
Kyrian. That’s a cool name, one I’ve never heard before. “And you’re in Hades Hall.”
“Sometimes.” He shrugs.
“What does that mean? Either you are or you aren’t.”
“It means sometimes I’m there. And sometimes I’m here.” He holds his arms out in an all-encompassing gesture.
His answer is the opening I’ve been looking for and I jump on it. “Where exactly is ‘here’?”
Again, he doesn’t answer. He just studies me for a very uncomfortable minute that feels like an eternity. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small pack of tissues, which he hands to me.
“What are these for?”
He leans forward, brushes his finger against my cheek. “You’re bleeding.”
“Oh, right!” I must have scraped myself during all that running and falling and sliding. I fumble a tissue out of the pack and press it to my cheek. “Thanks.”
“I’m really glad you jumped,” he answers.
It’s the last thing I expect him to say, and it makes my stomach flip a couple of times. Which I also ignore, because enigmatic guys who think they’re cool totally aren’t my type.
Or, at least, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
“What would have happened if I didn’t?” I don’t expect him to answer, and he doesn’t. But I also don’t expect him to do what he does next.
Which is to walk over to the train door and press the emergency button right next to it.
The train grinds to a halt, though the door doesn’t open. “This is your stop.”
I peer out the train windows, but all I see is darkness. “This isn’t a stop. There’s nothing here.”
“You sure about that?” He smirks. Then he hops up on one of the benches and nods toward the open access panel in the ceiling.
I look from him to the opening and back again. “You don’t really expect me to climb out of that, do you?”
“It’s how you got in.”
“Yeah, but…” I trail off, not sure what to say in this situation. No one’s ever asked me to climb through the ceiling of a train before.
“Don’t worry. I’ll boost you up.”
“You sure I won’t crush your spleen?” The words come out before I know I’m going to say them. But I’m not sorry I said them—that comment had stung. A lot.
“My spleen will be just fine.” He grins, but it fades quickly into something that looks a lot like regret. “And so will you, as long as you don’t come back here again.”
“Believe me, I don’t plan on it.” I climb up on the bench next to him. “I’m not even sure how I got here to begin with.”
“You’re really smart. I’m pretty sure you’ll figure it out.” He crouches down, weaving his fingers together to make a step for me.
“You’re really not going to tell me anything.”
“I already told you the most important thing,” he counters. “You need to go, Penelope. And you need to not come back for a really, really long time.”
“Train departing in sixty seconds.” A tinny voice comes over the loudspeaker.
