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The Last Train Out

 

The Last Train Out

The platform at Old Harbor station was nearly deserted. A damp fog clung to the steel rails, swallowing the dim yellow lights. Detective Raghav Malhotra pulled his coat tighter and glanced at his watch. 11:58 p.m. The last train out of the city would be here in two minutes, and with it, he hoped, the man he had been chasing for nearly a year.

For twelve months, “The Raven” had left a trail of bodies and riddles across the city. A jewel thief turned killer, his crimes carried a signature: a black feather placed beside every victim. The media adored him, the police despised him, and Raghav had made it personal after the Raven’s last heist left his partner dead.

Tonight, intelligence suggested the fugitive would flee on the midnight train. Raghav intended to end it.

The train screeched in, exhaling clouds of steam. A few late passengers shuffled off, but Raghav’s eyes scanned the crowd for the tall frame, the dark coat, the gloved hands. Then he saw him—moving with eerie calm, blending with travelers but too smooth, too careful. The Raven.

Raghav’s pulse quickened. He followed, keeping a careful distance. The Raven boarded the third coach from the front. Raghav slipped in behind him, his hand brushing the grip of his revolver.

The coach was dim, most passengers already dozing. The Raven walked down the aisle, selecting a seat near the window. Raghav slid into a bench two rows behind, heart drumming.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Wheels clattered, the city slipped into darkness. Then the Raven turned slightly, his reflection in the glass catching Raghav’s eye. A smile curved on his lips—cold, knowing.

“You’ve been following me for too long, Detective,” the Raven’s voice carried without him turning. “I was wondering when you’d finally catch up.”

Raghav stiffened. “It ends tonight. No more riddles. No more feathers.”

The Raven chuckled softly, finally twisting around. His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Do you think you’ve cornered me? This entire train is my stage.”

Before Raghav could respond, a scream pierced the carriage. A woman at the far end stood, clutching her throat. Blood trickled between her fingers. On the seat beside her—a black feather.

Chaos erupted. Passengers shouted, scrambled away. Raghav surged forward, but the Raven was already on his feet, slipping through the crowd like smoke.

“Stop!” Raghav shouted, shoving through terrified commuters. He drew his revolver, but the train lurched on a curve, throwing him off balance.

The Raven darted into the next coach. Raghav pursued, breath ragged. The chase spilled through the rattling compartments, past frightened passengers, until they reached the baggage car. Empty, silent, lit only by a swaying bulb.

The Raven stood at the far end, arms relaxed at his sides. Between them stretched twenty feet of shadow.

“Why kill her?” Raghav demanded, revolver raised. “She was no one.”

“She was the message,” the Raven replied. “Proof that no matter how close you think you are, you’ll always be one step behind.”

“Not tonight.” Raghav steadied his aim.

The Raven tilted his head. “Do you really want justice, Detective? Or is it revenge for your partner?”

Raghav’s jaw tightened. His finger pressed the trigger—

But the train screeched suddenly, brakes shrieking. The jolt slammed him into the wall. His gun skittered across the floor.

The Raven lunged. They crashed into each other, grappling amid crates and rattling chains. Raghav landed a punch, splitting the fugitive’s lip, but the Raven moved with serpent speed, locking an arm around his throat.

“Your partner begged,” the Raven whispered into his ear. “Will you?”

Raghav’s vision blurred, rage fueling his last strength. He smashed his elbow into the Raven’s ribs, broke free, and scrambled for his revolver. His hand closed around it.

The Raven charged.

A single shot split the car.

The Raven staggered, eyes wide, a black feather slipping from his coat pocket. He collapsed against the crates, blood blooming on his chest.

For a moment, silence reigned except for the clatter of wheels on steel. Raghav stood trembling, revolver smoking in his grip. The Raven coughed once, smirked faintly, and whispered, “Checkmate.” Then he was still.

When the train pulled into the next station, police swarmed the platform. Raghav emerged, weary and bloodied, carrying the weight of a year-long hunt that was finally over. Reporters would hail him as the man who ended the Raven’s reign. But Raghav knew the truth—justice and revenge were never clean victories.

In his pocket, he found one last feather. The Raven had left it for him. A reminder that even in death, some criminals never really let you go.

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