The tunnel swallowed the train whole.
Fluorescent lights stuttered once, twice, then died.
Silence slammed down like a coffin lid.
Every passenger froze mid-motion.
A businessman's coffee cup hovered inches from his lips.
A child's toy hung in the air.
The old woman beside Iris stopped knitting, needles locked mid-stitch.
Time simply ceased.
Only Iris could still breathe.
Only Iris could still feel the cold crawling under her skin.
A low, metallic hum vibrated inside her bones - the same frequency she would one day hear echoing from a violet-blue egg sealed beneath Tokyo.
From the far end of the car, darkness condensed into shape.
A tall figure in a flowing black coat that moved like liquid smoke.
Face hidden behind a smooth, bone-white mask - no eyes, no mouth, no humanity.
It glided forward without a sound and stopped directly in front of the five-year-old girl.
Iris couldn't scream.
Couldn't even blink.
The masked thing tilted its head.
"You're not supposed to be here," it said, voice layered inside her skull like a thousand dying whispers.
"I just want to go far away," Iris managed, tears freezing on her cheeks.
"You're drawn to the anomaly."
"What anomaly?"
A pale, clawed finger rose and pressed gently against her chest - right over her heart.
"You'll understand.
But not yet."
SWIP-
Reality snapped back.
Lights blazed. Voices exploded. The old woman smiled and resumed knitting as if nothing had happened.
But Iris felt it.
Iris sat still, her heart pounding-not from fear, but from something else entirely.
Something had awoken within her.
Something in Tokyo was calling.