“You should be careful, and not let go of me.” Orion ties the hoodie around his waist, and he pushes open those folding doors that connect from one car to the next. “We’re about to pass by a secret train station.” He steps out onto this metallic bridge and holds on to a black rubber strap with one hand. He extends the other to me.

There’s a sign that reads Riding or moving between cars is prohibited with a black silhouette between two train cars being shamed for doing so within a red stop symbol. But the bottom reads unless there is an emergency, or as directed by police or train crew and I’m going to declare my End Day an emergency.

I take Orion’s hand, half stepping onto the bridge and holding on to the rubber strap with the tightest grip. The wheels screeching are ten times louder out here, and the winds are blowing back my hair like we’re on the top of a building. It’s exhilarating without being as dangerous as skydiving. This is a first, but neither of us are stupid enough to try to document this with a picture. The fact that we’re doing this at all is already plenty stupid. But I’m not going to die here like some self-fulfilling prophecy from when I was panicking earlier about all the different ways I can die.

The train slows down slightly as it turns, breaking out of the dark tunnel. The secret station is illuminated by the sun casting through the skylight. I’m blown away by how different this station is from the one I was in this morning. This feels more like Grand Central, which I’ve only experienced through movies where characters arrive in New York for the first time and do that classic spin that screams, “I’ve made it!” If I weren’t so scared of falling onto the tracks, I’d probably spin right now too. It’s magical experiencing this hidden corner of New York and I’m shocked more people aren’t risking their lives and breaking the law to stand out on this crossway to see this for themselves. The sign on the bricked wall reads CITY HALL, and there are green and white tiles running along the vaulted ceiling. The most surprising piece would have to be the literal chandeliers that are switched off or don’t work, but to think they once lit up a train station like it was a ballroom? Showstopping.

As we’re returning into the darkness, Orion howls in euphoria, and I do the same, our voices echoing through the tunnel.

I’m aching to stay out here, but he wisely nudges me back inside.

“So?” Orion asks, flipping his thumbs up and down.