A little girl with bl0 0dy feet and a torn sweater clutched a paper bag at the station, raising alarm before she spoke. Inside was a baby barely breathing—and the truth behind it would silence the entire town.

That’s what he expected when the glass door opened.

Just another small thing.

The chime above it rang softly—too soft, he would later think, for the weight it carried.

He didn’t even look up right away.

“Evening,” he started, the word automatic, worn smooth from repetition—

And then he saw her.