The manifest page crackled in Arthur's hand as he held it up to the dim light of the engine car. The red Xs were drawn with a certain finality—no hesitation, no second thoughts. Fenwick. Elric. Evelyn.
Three names, three marks. But Evelyn was still alive.
Luke leaned in. "If Evelyn was meant to die and didn't, the killer either messed up—""Or changed the plan," Arthur finished. "Which means the next target might be someone not on that list."
Luke cursed under his breath. "So much for a pattern."
But Arthur's mind was already racing.
If Evelyn had been spared, then why?
She was involved. The grief over her brother's death was real. But maybe her pain had made her useful—someone the killer didn't want dead… yet.
"I need to speak to her again," Arthur said.
Back in the lounge, Evelyn was sitting alone, her eyes fixed on the frost-laced window. She didn't look up when Arthur approached, only said quietly, "Is it me next?"
Arthur shook his head. "No. But you were supposed to be."
That got her attention.
He showed her the manifest. Her name, crossed out like the others.
She stared at it for a long moment. "So why didn't they?"
"I was hoping you could tell me," Arthur said softly.
She hesitated, then said, "It's not just my brother. Fenwick… he ran a program—an experimental one. Trial surgeries for soldiers. Off-the-books. Reinhart's name was in the files."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Reinhart knew Fenwick before this?"
"Yes. And Elric Monroe helped bury the ethics complaints. Said it was 'for the greater good.' But my brother… he was one of the patients. One of the failures."
Luke, listening nearby, let out a low whistle. "So all three—Fenwick, Elric, Reinhart—they were part of the same cover-up."
"And now someone's cutting them down," Arthur said, piecing it together. "One by one."
Evelyn looked up. "You think I'm behind it?"
Arthur shook his head. "No. But you know more than you're telling me."
She was silent for a moment, then whispered, "He left me a letter. My brother. Before the operation. Said if anything happened to him, there was someone else I could trust."
Arthur leaned closer. "Who?"
"I don't know the name. Just a symbol."
She pulled a worn envelope from her coat and opened it. Inside was a folded paper with a drawn emblem: a spade, black and elegant, with two intertwining snakes coiled at its base.
Arthur froze.
He had seen that symbol once before.
On the edge of a seat.
In the Argent Line, hours before it derailed.
Night had fallen fully now, and the train plunged into a series of tight tunnels. The shadows outside flickered like phantom shapes, each flash of light slicing through the observation car.
Arthur returned to the others, heart pounding.
Seraphine noticed. "You've seen a ghost."
"No," Arthur said. "I've seen a sign. One I've ignored for too long."
He turned toward Reinhart.
"You were part of Fenwick's program. But you weren't just a soldier. You were a recruiter, weren't you?"
Reinhart's face didn't change, but his hands tightened around his glass.
Arthur stepped closer. "The project failed. But not because of incompetence. Because someone leaked it. Someone wanted it to fail."
Reinhart looked up. "And what are you accusing me of, detective?"
"I'm accusing you of surviving something you were never meant to walk away from," Arthur said. "And someone wants to fix that mistake."
Reinhart stood slowly, tension crackling off him like static.
Then the lights flickered—and the train shuddered violently.
Screams echoed down the car as the emergency lights came on.
The train had stopped.
Dead center in the dark heart of a mountain tunnel.
In the silence that followed, Arthur felt it again.
That unbearable weight on his chest.
Like chains, tightening with each breath.
One slip. One wrong move.
And this train would become a tomb—just like the Argent Line.
But this time…
He wasn't just a passenger.
He was the only one who could stop it.