The last train north
The station clock had stopped at seventeen minutes past three. Mara noticed it before she noticed the empty platform, the sleeping ticket office, the single light in the rain.
In her coat pocket, the letter crackled. She had read it so often that the words seemed to belong to her now.
Come to Bellwether. Bring the map.
Tell no one you remember.
Beyond the glass, the northbound train was waiting. For the first time in years, she knew where she was going.
