Footsteps approached down the aisle—soft-soled, rhythmic. The train cart attendant appeared at his row, pushing a silver trolley stacked with snacks and drinks. “Anything for you, sir?” Daniel blinked. “Just a cup of water, please. Cold if possible.” “Of course.”
A moment later, she handed him a clear plastic cup filled three-quarters with ice water. He nodded his thanks and held it loosely, the condensation immediately gathering on his fingers, slick and cool. He didn’t drink from it. Just held it like an anchor. Like a buffer between him and the chaos he couldn’t escape.