But the date didn’t change.
12 years ago.
He slowly looked up at the boy.
“…Where did you get this?”
The boy answered calmly:
“My mom gave it to me.”
The train suddenly felt colder.
“That’s not possible,” the conductor said. “This line wasn’t even built back then.”
The boy didn’t react.
Didn’t argue.
Didn’t panic.
He just looked out the window.
“I’ve been waiting,” he said softly. “She told me not to leave until I find her.”
Silence filled the carriage.
The conductor swallowed hard.
“Alright… what’s your name?”
“Eli.”
That name…
It felt familiar.
Too familiar.
The conductor stood up quickly.
“Stay here,” he said.
And for the first time—
the boy looked at him… almost worried.
