The next morning, the world was quiet except for birds and distant wheels whispering across the rails. The storm had passed, leaving behind the kind of calm only survivors understand.
Tracks bounded through the yard, Switch tumbling after him, both of them laughing in their own language of barks and clumsy joy.
Thomas sipped his coffee and watched the horizon blush pink. “You stopped the train,” he said softly. “Now let’s see where we go next.”
And somewhere down those shining rails, a whistle sounded—not a warning this time, but a beginning.
