Chapter 1: The Beginning of a New Start

1

It was here, the first day of school. I made my way across the platform to the train, settling into my seat.

More and more passengers boarded onto the train. Most were high school students like me.

The woman in the seat next to me was pressing her hand tightly to her chest like it was going to burst.

She was shaking. Not violently, though. More like the tremble of a bird that knows it’s already been caught.

I looked at her. Not with concern, not at first. Just... observation. Her skin had become that peculiar color, somewhere between ash and wax, like the face of a candle that had burned too long. Her eyes darted, frantic, looking past me, through me. A person doesn't look at anyone when they think they're dying. They look for exits. For salvation. For God, if they even still believe in that.

I didn’t move. Not yet.

This is the part people don’t talk about: how long it takes to act. Even in an emergency. Especially in one. Seconds stretch out like wire, taut and humming. We hesitate. Not out of cruelty, necessarily, but calculation.

Her breathing was shallow now. A dry rasping, like paper tearing in her throat. Her hand clawed at the collar of her coat. She wasn't crying out. That surprised me. No one ever talks about how quiet dying can be.

Around us, the train filled with chatter. Laughs, notifications, the jostling thump of backpacks being shoved onto racks. Life, with its usual blind momentum, moved forward. No one noticed her. No one noticed me, either.

I wondered, briefly, if she had any children. A husband. A morning routine. A favorite coffee order. I wondered if she thought, in these final moments, of anything she regretted. Or if, like most people, she was just afraid—simple, primal fear, as old as breath itself.

I turned to face her.

“You’re having a heart attack.”

Her lips parted, trying to speak.

But I already knew. She was dying.

2

Eventually, the train arrived at our stop, screeching to a halt. I grabbed my bag and began walking across the platform when, suddenly, a girl bumped into me.

“Oh! My apologies! Are you okay?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Oh, okay! Just making sure!”

The girl wiped the sweat off her brow, brushing her hair out of her face in a swift motion that felt practiced, like she did this a lot.

Then, glancing down at her wristwatch, she scanned it intently.

“Oh, wait! I have to go now! See you later!”

She rushed toward the exit.

As she stepped off the platform, she waved back at me.

I stood there for a moment before following the rest of the crowd.

As I stepped off the platform, I saw it.

The building that was Institute X towering over me.