The train left the station with a steadily increasing rumbling sound, the landscape outside turning into a blur of browns and greens once again, the sky a steely gray that promised rain. I hoped that it would wait until I reached my destination.

My destination. So far, I had managed to distract myself from the looming unknown, but now, with nightfall fast approaching and only a few stations left until the train would reach it, an anticipatory shiver ran down my spine.

Luckily, a loud rustling sound ripped me out of my thoughts before panic truly set in. In the reflection of the window, I could see the boy digging around in his backpack until he finally pulled out a paperback book. A quiet gasp tore free from my throat when I recognized the cover: a train driving down snowy train tracks, headlights cutting through the night.

In the deserted carriage, the noise was loud enough to make the boy look up, shooting me a confused glance. His bewilderment seemed to ease when his eyes drifted down to the book I was balancing in my lap, my train ticket serving as a bookmark after I had put it down an hour ago—a similarly tattered copy of Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express.

His lips quirked into the hint of a smile. “Good book, huh?”

“It’s one of my favorites,” I said. I was silent for a moment but then, because I hadn’t had anyone to talk to in over five hours, much less anyone my age who also happened to read, I asked,

“What chapter are you on?”

“Chapter five. But I’ve already read it a hundred times, so . . .”

“Me too.”

His smile widened. “Nice.” He hesitated for a moment before he lifted his backpack, previously acting as a barricade between us, and slid over to the seat closer to the aisle. “So . . . is this your first year at Seven Hills?”

My heart skipped a beat at the name I had previously tried to block out. “How do you know I’m going there?”

“You look about seventeen, meaning you’re the right age to be a student. You’re carrying a lot of luggage, indicating you might have packed for a pretty long stay.” He pointed up at the two suitcases occupying the overhead carriers. “And finally, there are only two more stops. The next one is in some small village, so it’s unlikely that you’ll get off there. That leaves only the last stop, which happens to be within walking distance of the school.”

“All right, Sherlock,” I laughed. “You’re right, it’s my first year.

What about you?”

“Me too.”

I was more relieved than I cared to show. The prospect of having to enter the school all alone had been terrifying, to say the least, so this was a lovely turn of events.

Leaning into the aisle, I stretched out a hand. “I’m Evelyn.”

He shook my hand with a grin, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Seth. Seth Williams.”