It had been a long day. Patrols, paperwork, another interview about the Hosu incident. Your body ached, your mind was numb, and all you wanted was a hot shower and your bed.

The doors slid open with a soft hiss. You stepped onto the platform.

The air was colder than you remembered. Sharper. It bit at your cheeks, made your breath fog in front of you.

Something prickled at the back of your neck. A familiar weight. Like eyes on your skin.

You turned.

The platform was nearly empty. A cleaning bot whirred past. A vending machine hummed.

No one there.

You exhaled, rubbed your arms, and started walking toward the exit. Just your imagination. It had to be.

But as you passed the vending machine, you caught a faint smell in the air.

Smoke. Not cigarette smoke. Something else. Something that reminded you of burning leaves. Of a fire too big to control.

You stopped.

Your phone buzzed. A notification.

Unknown number. One message.

Miss me?