8:05 a.m.
Noah's hands trembled in his laps as the memory of heat, of metal folding inward, of her final silent question, clung to him like smoke that refused to clear.
He looked across the aisle.
She was there, her dark wavy hair, green eyes, the same controlled posture as she held the pole. This time, when the train curved, she didn't stumble, instead, her gaze lifted slowly and found his.
Recognition flashed across her face, it was sharp and unmistakable.
Noah stood up immediately, his heart pounding harder than the rails beneath them. He crossed the narrow aisle, stopping just in front of her.
"You feel it too," he said, voice low. "The wrongness. It's happening again."
She didn't flinch neither did she look away. "I remember," she whispered. "The explosion, the fire, you pulling me down, shielding me and then… nothing until now."
Relief surged through him, so intense it nearly buckled his knees. He wasn't alone in this madness.
"Noah Vale," he said, offering his hand.
She took it, her grip firm, steady and warm. "Lena Kovac." she calmly said. The name settled in Noah's mind like a piece clicking into place.
Just then, the train lurched, the same faint, treacherous hesitation he'd felt the first time.
They both tensed.
"How long do we have?" Lena asked, already scanning the carriage with calm and professional eyes.
"Four minutes or maybe less. First blast comes from below, tears the floor open. The second from the rear, the whole thing then collapses." Noah explained.
She nodded once. "Not random. Targeted."
"Interpol?" he guessed, reading the way she moved, alert but contained, like someone trained to assess threats in crowded spaces.
"Yes. I've been tracking a cell, radical environmentalists. They've hit power grids, dams, a commuter train in the financial district would be symbolic because of the high body count and the maximum disruption." Luna stated.
Noah exhaled. "That tracks. Ex-Special Forces myself, I felt the vibration building up the first time, but couldn't place it until it was too late."
8:06 a.m.
They didn't waste time on disbelief or explanations. There was no room for it.
Together, they began to move, slowly at first and careful not to alarm the other passengers. Lena took the left side of the aisle while Noah the right with their eyes quietly sweeping seats, bags and faces.
"Anything stand out to you the first time?" Noah asked quietly.
"You," she said without looking at him. "Only you. Everyone else was… background."
Same for him…
Near the middle of the carriage, Lena paused. "I found a black backpack, under seat 14C. I don't think the owner is sitting nearby. It looks too casual to be abandoned accidentally."
Noah glanced. The bag looked ordinary, it contained scuffed canvas and no visible wires but it sat at an odd angle, as if weighted unevenly.
"Could be," he said. "But if it's professional, there'll be more than one device. Redundancy."
"Fail-safes," Lena agreed. "Remote trigger possible."
8:07 a.m.
The lights flickered once…twice…
A few passengers glanced up, annoyed, then returned to their screens.
The vibration then returned, deeper now, thrumming through the floor like a heartbeat.
Lena's hand brushed Noah's arm. "We can't disarm everything in three minutes. Not without tools, not without clearing the carriage first."
"Evacuation?" he suggested.
"Between stations? Panic kills as many as the blast would." Lena said.
They moved toward the connecting door to the next carriage, hoping to isolate sections and probably buy time.
A man in a gray hoodie suddenly stood up, blocking their path. He was in his mid-thirties, but strangely, he looked nervous with sweat on his upper lip despite the cool air.
"Is that your bag back over there?" Noah asked, nodding toward the backpack.
The man's gaze darted. "Mind your own business."
Lena stepped forward, voice calm but edged. "We're going to need you to step aside."
He immediately reached into his pocket but Noah moved first, fast maybe due to trained reflex. He caught the man's wrist, twisted it, and forced him down into a seat. The object in his pocket was a phone, screen lit with a single unsent text: INITIATE.
"Remote detonator," Lena said, prying the phone free. She powered it off, then zip-tied the man's wrists with a restraint pulled from her own bag. "Who are you working for?"
The man who later they'd learn his name was Echo laughed, bitter and defiant. "You're already dead. You just don't know it yet."
8:08 a.m.
Smoke seeped from beneath the floor panels, thin at first, then thicker.
Not from the backpack, from deeper, a device they hadn't found.
Passengers began to notice. Murmurs turned into desperate gasps.
Noah and Lena dragged Echo toward the emergency exit at the end of the carriage.
"We get him out," Lena said. "Alive. He talks, we trace the cell."
But suddenly, the floor buckled violently and flames erupted in a roaring sheet, cutting them off from the exit.
The second blast hit the rear carriage, sending a shockwave that slammed them forward.
Noah grabbed Lena, pulling her down as ceiling panels crashed around them. Heat roared overhead.
They crawled through the smoke, hands linked, towards a breach in the side where glass had shattered.
For a moment, cool air rushed in.
They almost made it…
Then the carriage twisted, metals screaming, and the train folded in on itself.
Noah held her as fire took them, her eyes found his one last time.
"We'll do better next time," she said. No fear, only promise.
Then darkness…