We start moving.
Every traffic light flashing past the window is just the clock bleeding out. One more checkpoint gone. More time lost to the dark.
The first door between cars.
I'd expected resistance. A system lock or something. The last car was the only one that opened on the platform—every other car kept its doors sealed against us. So I assumed the internal doors would fight, too.
But it slides open like nothing ever mattered.
We stop in the escape area between cars. Cold air pushing through the gaps around the coupling. Outside, the absolute white is blurring past at a speed that makes my eyes ache if I focus on it too long, because we have no reference point to feel the speed.
An idea lands.
"What if we just disconnect the last car?"
Oliver steps forward. Looks down at the junction. He stows his hammer in his inventory with a grunt and lowers himself to the floor—flat on his stomach, peering under the divider.
His ribs protest twice.
