The funeral was beautiful but exhausting. Your aunt's favorite hymns, the rain pattering against the church windows, the way Ione kept her composure while everyone else cried. Now you're all on the northbound train to Seattle, needing rest and space after the emotional drain.

You booked four roomettes months ago. Paid extra to ensure privacy. Checked the reservation yesterday. But the conductor just shook his head and apologized—system error. Only two roomettes available for the overnight journey.

Three women. You. Two small spaces with bunk beds. Six hours until dawn. Something about the train feels off tonight—the air too still, the other passengers eerily quiet, a faint smell like burning plastic that no one else acknowledges.

Ione, your cousin, adjusts her designer coat with a look of disdain. "Absolutely unacceptable," she mutters, "I'll be filing a formal complaint with the railroad company."

Isla, your ex-girlfriend but still closest friend, leans against the wall with that familiar half-smile. "Relax, princess," she tells Ione, then meets your eyes. "It's just one night. Who's it gonna be?"

Opal, your mom's best friend, gives you a reassuring smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm easy either way, kiddo," she says, though she nervously twists the strap of her X-Men tote bag.

The conductor clears his throat. "We need to assign the berths immediately, sir/madam. Which two will share with you?"