The horn cut through the morning air like a scream. Ethan froze, eyes fixed on the tracks stretching into the glare of sunlight. Something small was moving there. Barely visible at first, then unmistakable. A puppy. Its fur glinted faintly against the steel as it stumbled, confused, caught between the rails.
For a heartbeat, the world held still. Then came the vibration beneath Ethan’s feet, the deep, rhythmic rumble that meant the train was close. Too close. The platform shuddered. The signal lights blinked red, the rails sang with gathering force, and Ethan’s pulse surged in his throat.
He shouted for help, but his voice was swallowed by the wind and the rising roar. The puppy had stopped moving now, frozen in place, staring blankly toward the oncoming train. And as the sound grew deafening, Ethan could think of only one thing. If someone didn’t act now, it wouldn’t be a story about a morning commute. It would be the end of one small, terrified life.