The fissures in the Heart pulsed violently, black veins writhing like snakes, reaching for Evelyn's ankles, arms, even the lantern itself. Each pulse made the rails groan, the walls of the carriage bending as if the train itself were flexing its massive, living body.
Evelyn's breath came in ragged gasps, but she didn't hesitate. She raised her lantern, flames roaring white-hot, cutting through the shadows latching onto her. Each swing of the lantern seared the black veins, sending them snapping and hissing back into the Heart.
The Heart screamed—a sound not of air, but of pure hunger and anger. Shadows erupted from every crack, forming twisted visions of Alex, Sophie, and Leo. Their eyes glowed red, mouths twisted in silent screams. They lunged, clawing, begging, and mocking all at once.
"STOP!" Evelyn screamed, tears streaming. "I won't give in! I'm not yours!"
The lantern flared brighter, flames licking across the surface of the Heart, carving lines of white light into its writhing flesh. For the first time, the Heart recoiled—not just from her strikes, but from her will.
The cracks widened, light spilling from deep within, and the pulse slowed. The train's fury was palpable; it lashed out with tendrils, shadows, and psychic echoes, but Evelyn dodged, struck, and pressed forward.
Her chest burned, her hands shook, her entire body ached—but she kept moving. Every strike was fueled by grief, by love, by anger, and by the memory of the friends the train had stolen.
The Heart pulsed slower. The fissures widened. Evelyn realized: it was weakening.
And she wasn't done yet.