Page 12 of When You're Lost

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Amelia said, eyeing her watch.It was 1:52 PM.The train was scheduled to arrive at precisely two.

"Everyone remain alert," McNeil's voice interjected in her ear."We have plain clothes across the platform and near the ticket office.The station master is on standby.Let's hope nobody spooks him if he shows.Keep the chatter to a minimum."

Amelia’s heart pounded at the prospect of confronting Wendell again.She tried to quell the uneasy swirl in her stomach by focusing on the meager details: the shape of the ticket office, the distant shape of farmland behind the station, the swirl of fog that concealed the horizon.The place truly felt like a stage set for something ominous.

Suddenly, a shrill scream shattered the silence.Amelia jerked upright, spinning toward the small ticket office building.The other passengers jumped, startled.

“Winters, is that you?”McNeil asked urgently.

Amelia was already sprinting across the platform, coffee forgotten as she rushed to the doorway.Inside, a woman in a station clerk’s uniform stood behind a narrow counter, rolling her eyes dramatically.Another clerk, younger, stood by a back door with tea staining her blouse and dripping onto the floor.

Amelia glanced around, breath still racing.“Is everything all right?We heard someone scream—”

The older clerk waved a dismissive hand.“Apologies.My colleague Martha here spilled her tea and got hot water on her wrist.You’d think it was the end of the world the way she yelped.”She shot the younger woman a mildly reproachful look.

Martha’s face was flushed.“I—I just burned my hand a little.I’m sorry for alarming anyone.I was surprised, that’s all.”

Amelia blew out a breath, relief mingled with frustration at the false alarm.She forced a tight smile.“No worries.Just… be careful.Hot tea can be nasty.”

“Tell me about it.”The older clerk sighed, bending to pick up a dropped cup.“Sorry again for the commotion.”

With a nod, Amelia ducked back outside, heart still beating a touch too fast.She spoke softly into her earpiece, “False alarm.A spilled cup of tea.”

Clint let out a low grunt.“Better that than an actual emergency.”

Amelia thought for a moment that had Finn been there, he'd have made a joke about a bunch of British people getting worked up over a cup of tea.She could really have used his sense of humor right then.

She retook her spot on the platform, checking her watch.1:58 PM.The train was due in just two minutes.A flicker of movement caught her eye: a tall man in a hooded jacket stepping out from behind a metal shelter on the opposite side of the platform.The hood partially concealed his face.He glanced around, posture tense.

Amelia’s instincts flared.“Possible suspect,” she murmured.“Tall male, hoodie—he just stepped out from the far shelter.”She flicked her gaze around to see if any of the other plainclothes officers were closer.

“I see him,” Clint replied quietly, though he didn’t move from his bench.“Should we approach?”

McNeil's voice broke in.“No direct ID yet.Let’s make sure it's him.”

Amelia nodded to herself, shifting position.The man was pacing near the platform edge now.She started walking along the concrete, casual but purposeful, closing distance.The mist still clung to the tracks, and a distant rumble signaled the train’s imminent arrival.The station’s single loudspeaker crackled with static.

At 1:59, the man in the hoodie began walking toward the far end of the platform, away from most other passengers.Amelia followed, half a dozen yards behind, heart thudding.Over her earpiece, she heard Clint quietly say, “I’ll circle around the other side.If he tries to bolt, I can intercept.”She caught a glimpse of Clint rising from his bench, folding the newspaper under his arm as he headed off in the opposite direction.

The train pulled into view, a dull metal shape emerging from the mist with a squeal of brakes.Amelia kept her gaze on the hooded man, who paused momentarily, then looked over his shoulder.She couldn’t see his face clearly.

He strode forward again, stepping toward one of the train doors.It hissed open, and he slipped inside.Amelia cursed under her breath.“He’s boarding the train,” she hissed into the comm.“I need a better look.”

“Careful,” McNeil warned.“There are a lot of civilians on that train.”

“Roger that,” she replied, heart hammering as she stepped onto the same carriage a second later.Her eyes darted left and right, scanning the seated passengers.The hooded figure had vanished, presumably moving further down the carriage.

Clint’s voice crackled: “I’m coming in from the next door.If he heads that way, I’ll see him.”

Amelia walked down the narrow aisle, searching each row.The seats were half-empty, mostly subdued travelers.She saw no sign of the man’s hoodie.Then an older woman gestured politely for her to pass, so she obliged, murmuring an apology.Another passenger read a magazine, not looking up.No one matched the figure’s height or attire.

“Where did he go?”Amelia muttered.She reached the end of the carriage, where a small corridor led to the onboard toilet.A rectangular sign read “Engaged,” the lock indicator glowing red.

She pressed a finger to her earpiece.“He’s in the toilet, I think.Engaged sign is on.Could be him changing or hiding.”

Clint’s tone turned wary.“I’m at the carriage connector.”

Amelia inhaled, stepped closer to the toilet door.“Police,” she called out, rapping her knuckles on the metal.“Open up.We just want to talk.”

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