“I’m going to hold this open for you,” Michael says, his long arms high enough for me to duck under. “But you need to jump quickly. Okay?”

I nod, not knowing quite what I’m agreeing to considering the train is very much still rambling down the track. The opening is just wide enough to fit his lean frame. He looks back at me, with my hips and other curves, and then he pulls the door a little wider.

No time to blush.

As the car reaches a bend, it pauses, almost imperceptibly.

“Now!” Michael urges. I grip the straps of my backpack and leap over the gap between the track and platform, my heart thumping so hard I worry for my other organs. I hear Michael land right next to me, and I stumble into him. He steadies me as my knees tremble from the shot of adrenaline.

The train car is gone, screeching its way along the tracks. I take a deep breath, clutching Michael for an extra moment. Then I let go and look around to find that we are in what feels like a totally different time.

I’ve never been in a subway station so empty, so quiet. And it’s so perfectly preserved, under New York City all this time, and not even a secret.

“Never got much use,” Michael says. “Now it’s always empty except for the occasional private tour. But doesn’t it have so much character?”

It does.

“We have to catch our next train, so we’ll take the fast route. Or, as I like to think of it, the fun route!” He hops down onto the rails, and I hold in a shocked screech. Touching the tracks is almost as bad of subway etiquette as making eye contact with a stranger.

“Avoid this one.” Michael points at the third rail––duh, dude, I’m no subway amateur––then reaches up to help me climb down to meet him, though I need to fight all my ingrained instincts to even consider such a reckless action. My only associations with people jumping onto subway tracks are very unfortunate—loss of life and, worse, rush-hour delays.

As soon as we pass under the archway of the dark tunnel, he lifts what looks like a manhole cover. I look down the hole and see a… pole? “Don’t overthink it. I’ll catch you at the bottom,” he says, and sits, dangles his legs into the hole, then wraps them around the pole. “Wait about thirty seconds before you follow.” He pushes his way into the hole and gets sucked into the dark, his clothing squealing against the metal. As soon as his head is through, the cover slams shut with a clang that echoes through the dark tunnel.