The dead station kept Tessa's voice.
It came back from the tiled walls late and thin, stripped of the shake that had been in her mouth. The place could copy sound. It had no idea what fear did to a person after the sound left.
The skeleton's warning still sat in the speaker wire.
Do not come closer to him.
Tessa stayed on the third stair with one hand locked around her phone and the other pressed against the cracked brass rail. Her thumb ached from keeping the stream open. The little corner box showed her face too pale and too wide-eyed, hair stuck to her cheek from sweat.
The rest of the feed showed the platform.
Ty's face was gone.
The red route was gone.
The burnt paper he had left behind kept curling on the tile anyway.
