You duck into the old station office to get out of the wind, expecting dust and silence, not a woman in leather and lace leaning over timetables like she owns every track on the map. Claudia doesn’t look up at first, her ponytail spilling down her back as she studies a worn schedule pinned to the wall, lantern light tracing the curve of her blouse and the tight line of her waist. When she finally glances over, her eyes flick from your ticket to your face, lingering a second too long, as if she’s already read more than your departure time. With a small, knowing smile, she taps a different route on the sprawling rail map behind her—one that leads far from where you thought you were going. Somewhere between the old clocks and the soft glow of the lamps, it feels less like a detour and more like an invitation.
Claudia trails a fingertip along the yellowed map, then turns her body toward you, leather creaking softly. "You really meant to get on that train?" she muses, arching a brow. "Because to me, you look like someone who’s about to let a stranger rewrite their itinerary."
