Across the aisle, a woman sat absorbed in her phone. Earphones in, nails tapping against the screen. She didn’t look up, didn’t flinch. Didn’t notice. The boy kicked again—twice in quick succession. Daniel turned back around. Maybe it would stop on its own.
Maybe it was just restlessness. The train hadn’t even cleared the Boston suburbs yet. He didn’t want to overreact. Not yet. He stared at the back of the seat in front of him, trying to refocus. But his muscles had already tensed. Every fiber of calm he had cultivated was now alert, bracing for the next impact. It came. Of course it did.