The Heart pulsed beneath Evelyn's feet, black veins thrashing violently. Each beat sent ripples through the carriage, twisting walls, floors, and ceilings into impossible angles. The rails bent like molten metal, the air thick with shadows that hissed and coiled.
Evelyn gripped her lantern tighter. Her knuckles were raw, her lungs burned, but she refused to stop. Each swing of the lantern cut the writhing veins of the Heart, searing lines of white-hot fire into the black flesh.
But the Heart adapted.
Suddenly, the carriage around her warped into impossible, disorienting shapes. Floors inverted, ceilings stretched down like molten icicles, walls bent like liquid metal. Shadows multiplied, forming twisted, distorted versions of herself, each mimicking her movements perfectly.
"You can't escape us," a thousand whispers said, all layered together—her voice, her friends' voices, the train's voice, all screaming in unison.
Evelyn spun, lantern swinging, burning through each shadow. The twisted reflections screamed and melted, but more replaced them instantly. The Heart pulsed faster, feeding on her exhaustion, her fear, her doubt.
Her chest burned, but she forced herself to stand tall. "I am not yours!" she shouted. "I am real! I am alive!"
Her words flared the lantern to blinding brilliance. The shadows screamed, scattering into ash. The warped carriage began to straighten, the rails realigning beneath her feet.
The Heart throbbed violently, a deep, angry roar shaking the carriage. Evelyn realized it was hurting now. Every strike, every act of defiance, was pushing it closer to breaking.
But the Heart wasn't finished yet. It would adapt. It would fight back harder. And Evelyn knew: the next assault would be worse.