The Wait

The 11:47 p.m. train was a metallic specter echoing on the nearly empty tracks. She—Lucía—had chosen the last car out of habit, for the solitude that calmed her after endless days at the office.

She wore an office dress that she had transformed into something more: a black pencil skirt that had ridden three centimeters higher than prudent when she sat down, a white silk blouse that revealed the outline of her lace bra, and silk stockings that shimmered under the yellowish lights of the car.

She sat at the far end, by the window, with her legs crossed. The silence was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of the wheels.

At the next stop, they boarded.

Two men. Different but complementary: one tall, in an unbuttoned dark suit, with large, calloused hands that betrayed manual labor disguised as an executive’s job; The other, younger man, wore a leather jacket and possessed a feline stillness, an observer.

They sat in the same carriage, but far apart. One at each end, like guardians. Like predators who knew how to wait.

Lucía felt the blush creeping across her face before anything else happened. A heat rising from her décolletage, painting her cheeks a pink she couldn’t control. She crossed her legs more tightly, feeling the fabric of her skirt pull against her thighs, aware that the gesture left her more exposed, not less.

First Contact

It was the younger man who moved first. With a naturalness that seemed casual, he stood up and walked to the center of the carriage, where a steel bar offered support. He stood there, his back to her, but his reflection in the dark glass of the window stared back at her.

Their eyes met in that imperfect mirror. Lucía quickly lowered her gaze, embarrassed, but not before seeing the slow, satisfied predator’s smile.

The train braked sharply. A track failure, a metallic voice announced. Indefinite delay.