The hills and scattered figures of people in the far distance began to blur and fade as the train surged forward, its rhythmic hum vibrating through the cabin. Through the window, the countryside unfolded in all its green and gold glory.

It was fall, a wonderful season where the leaves on trees turned a beautiful red, gold, or amber, and the atmosphere gave a chill but comforting feeling.

But, the passing scenery barely caught her attention. A book rested in her hands, though it lay abandoned as her thoughts pulled her elsewhere—into the past, to the days of her childhood.

A soft smile touched her lips as the familiar sights of her hometown appeared like fragments of forgotten dreams.

"Home..."

She whispered, the word tasting like something warm and comforting.

How long had it been?

Five years? Seven?

She'd lost count.

The years had blended together in the whirlwind of studying abroad, but time spent away only seemed to sharpen her longing for the simple beauty of her home in the countryside.

Life abroad had been every bit as fascinating as she had imagined.

The bustling streets, the neon glow of city lights, the towering buildings that seemed to touch the clouds—everything felt so new, so different. The soft hum of traffic, the constant buzz of life, the crisp scent of concrete mixed with something foreign. There was always movement, always noise.

But no matter how exciting the city had been, she missed the stillness of her hometown.

The way the air smelled of wet earth after a spring rain, how the birds filled the skies with their morning songs, how the deer would wander like ghosts through the trees at dusk.

Oh, how it felt to be back.

The atmosphere inside the train cabin shifted suddenly, turning darker as the train entered a long, familiar tunnel.

She recognized it immediately—this tunnel, with its slanted, graffiti-scarred walls. It wasn’t the first time she had traveled through it, but the memories attached to it felt fresh as though they were unfolding for the first time.

She remembered her younger self, clutching her mother’s hand tightly as the darkness swallowed them whole. The way her heart would race, each second stretching on for an eternity as the tunnel closed in.

And her mother—so steady, so unbothered by the darkness—would gently squeeze her hand, reassuring her.

She chuckled softly, a light sound that barely broke through the low whirring of the train.

But as the tunnel stretched on, something caught her eye. A row of little lights blinked faintly on the tunnel walls, casting a dim, warm glow.

"Those weren’t there before..." she murmured to herself, her brow furrowing slightly.

Of course, things had changed in the approximately six years since she’d left. She’d known that. It just hadn’t quite sunk in until now.

The train burst into light as it exited the tunnel, but with the daylight returned a new knot of uncertainty in her chest. The closer she got, the more her mind raced.

How much has changed?

Would the roads be paved now, or would they still be those crumbling, winding paths she remembered from her childhood?

Would the little shops and cozy houses still line the streets, or had they been replaced by new buildings?

Would the birds still fill the air with their songs, or had their calls been drowned out by the noise of progress?

And most importantly, would her home— still feel like it once did?

Would it still be the quiet, peaceful countryside that had cradled her childhood?

Or would it be something altogether different now?

The last time she’d seen her family was in a photograph that had been taken by a traveling photographer that was mailed to her three years ago.

That picture was the first picture her family had taken together, since cameras were a rare thing in her home.

She wondered if they had changed as well, in the time she’d been away.

The letters they sent every month described new things—little changes here and there, like the new school or the little fabric boutique.

'Would home still be home?'

The sharp whistle of another train cut through her thoughts as it sped by, startling her. The metal screech was quickly replaced by the steady pulse of her own train as it continued onward.

She peered out the window, and there it was—the immovable circus.

Her heart leapt, and for a moment, she was a child again.

She could almost hear the laughter, the music, the calls of vendors handing out sweet treats. The circus had never moved from its spot along the train tracks, and once every year, without fail, she and her siblings would come.

It was more of a tradition than a thrill, really—mostly, they just came for the free snacks they handed out during the holidays, but, those were the memories she cherished most.

She leaned forward in her seat, abandoning her already abandoned book in the process, her face pressed against the cool glass as she grinned from ear to ear.

The joy of seeing the circus, the familiar tents, brought with it a rush of memories—of simpler times, when everything was more innocent and carefree.

The cabin was silent except for the soft hiss of the train’s wheels on the tracks.

As the circus faded from view, she leaned back in her seat with a contented sigh.

"To be young," she whispered, her heart full.

A moment later, her eyes caught the gaze of the gentleman sitting across from her; he was in his early thirties, but his mustache made him look way older.

His newspaper folded neatly across his face, and his legs lay crossed.

He peered over the edge of it, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses, giving her an amused look.

He seemed to silently ask, "Has she been deprived of the outside world all her life?"

Realizing she had been caught in her childlike excitement, she blushed slightly, offering an awkward smile.

She picked up her coffee cup from the small tray in front of her, the warmth of it in her hands grounding her as she took a quick sip, averting her gaze.

The coffee, bland and a little too bitter, didn't help matters. She scrunched her face at the taste, but tried as much as possible to hide it.

Her eyes wandered back outside, drawn again to the landscape rolling by. A new rice mill stood proudly in the distance, its sleek steel frame a stark contrast against the surrounding greenery.

She paused for a moment, the sight unfamiliar but strangely reassuring.

Things had changed, yes.

Her little hometown was evolving, growing. But beneath all that change, she hoped—no, needed—the soul of the place to remain unchanged. The peace, the quiet, the lush greenery... all the things that made it home.

With a deep breath, she leaned back in her seat, casually dropping her cup.

As the train carried her further into the past and closer to her future, her eyelids grew heavy, and soon, her thoughts were lulled by the steady sway of the train.

The hum of the tracks was the last thing she remembered before sleep claimed her.

There was a sudden jolt. A metallic screech.

Then—noise.

The kind that ripples through a crowd like electricity: sharp, wild, rising fast.

Shouts erupted from the rear of the train. Startled passengers exchanged confused glances, some standing, others pressing against the windows in search of answers.

Meanwhile, the front remained curiously calm—blissfully unaware, or perhaps just frozen in confusion.

Among the unaware was Mandy.

Still curled into her seat, her cheek pressed against the windowpane, she slept peacefully—lulled by the rhythmic hum of the rails.

That hum, however, had ceased. And the silence that replaced it stirred something unsettling in the air.

“Miss…”

A gentle but urgent voice pulled her from the fog of her dreams.

Mandy stirred.

Standing over her, the gentleman from her cabin. Calm, but with an unmistakable sharpness behind his spectacles.

She blinked. “Are we… at the final stop?”

She sat up slowly, taking in the eerie quiet, now punctuated by muffled footsteps and raised voices from behind. Her brows furrowed.

The man shook his head. “Not quite. But judging from the noise at the rear, something is amiss.”

Mandy straightened. Something in his tone told her it was more than a mechanical issue.

Her mind began to race.

A pit, maybe?

A rockslide on the tracks?

If the worst had happened, it could take days to clear. She couldn’t afford a delay—not when home was just within reach.

Without a second thought, she stood. Determined, she stepped into the aisle and started toward the control car. If there was an issue, the driver would surely know more.

But her steps halted abruptly.

A click.

A cold, heavy pressure settled against the side of her temple.

Mandy froze.

A masked figure stood before her, rifle pressed to her head. Two more emerged behind him, lugging canvas sacks heavy with stolen goods.

Their eyes were obscured by shadowed masks, but their intentions were clear.

“On your knees,” the first man growled.

Mandy obeyed, trembling. Her palms pressed against the cool floor. Heart pounding. Breath shallow.

Not again…

She had lived this once before—as a child (five-year-old), clutched against her aunt's side on a long ride back from her place in a town close by.

She remembered the fear. The helplessness.

And now, eighteen years later, it had found her again.

The robbers moved swiftly, barking orders, shoving bystanders. Mandy shut her eyes tightly, bracing herself.

Then, a familiar voice caught her attention, cutting through the tension, calm as silk and firm as a stone—

“Young men, I believe those bags don't belong to you.”

Mandy’s eyes flew open.

There, just right beside her, stood the gentleman.

He walked forward with measured ease, his left hand tucked into his coat pocket, his right hand gripping a polished, silver-tipped cane.

There was no fear in his step. Only authority.

The masked leader spun his rifle toward him. “Back off, old man! Else, you’ll get hurt.”

Unbothered, he paused, then reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a card with the grace of a magician revealing his final trick.

“Detective Jones,” he announced, flashing the card. “You may have heard of me. I’d suggest you surrender now before this turns, unpleasant.”

The air shifted.

Mandy watched, wide-eyed, as realization hit the robbers like a slap. One of them visibly flinched.

The Jones Hamburg?!

Jones wasn’t just a name—he was a legend in the city. A legend whose name spread even to the suburbs.

A man whose mere presence could dismantle a criminal's nerve.

Like cowards that they were, they bolted down the aisle at that information.

Jones moved quickly. In one smooth motion, he reached for his back pocket, drew a sleek firearm, and fired into the ceiling.

The shot cracked through the air like thunder.

The robbers halted, frightened.

Within seconds, two plainclothed officers burst in, pinning them down and snapping cuffs onto their wrists.

“Took them long enough,” Jones muttered, tucking away his gun. Then, with a slight smile, he extended his hand to Mandy.

She took it, still too stunned for words.

“Thank you…” she whispered, bowing her head, her voice barely audible over the remaining chaos.

He chuckled. “Don’t mention it. Comes with the title.”

As the officers dragged the culprits away, it was discovered that the rifle aimed at Mandy had been unloaded. No bullets. Just threat and showmanship.

That explained their panic.

Soon, about two hours later, the train was back in motion, resuming its journey as if nothing had happened. The familiar hum returned—its comforting rhythm a balm to Mandy’s frayed nerves.

She sat opposite Jones once more, still shaken but now filled with a sense of awe.

“I can’t believe it…” she said quietly. “You're the Mr. Jones…”

He smiled, sipping from a fresh cup of tea. “Believe it, Miss Mandy. I had hoped this countryside trip would be relaxing… but it seems trouble likes to follow me, no matter how far I travel."

She laughed, tension melting from her shoulders. “Well then, how about a guided tour from me when we arrive? Maybe I can help you enjoy the peaceful side of my little town."

“Gladly,” he said with a nod. “Though from the way you acted before this whole fiasco, you might need a tour guide yourself.”

“True,” she smiled, and thought 'was I that obvious'…

They continued to talk, their conversation drifting from books to places, childhood memories to future plans.

Outside, the sun began to dip low on the horizon. The train rolled steadily down the track, its gentle hum once again a lullaby of familiarity.

The sun had gone down, though the two adults barely noticed. Their train, greatly delayed, wouldn’t reach its final stop until early the next day. Still, Mandy listened in awe as Mr. Jones Hamburg recounted tales of some of his most memorable cases.

She could hardly believe it—the legend himself, sitting just across from her, in the same train, the same cabin, heading to the same place.

Could this be fate? she wondered.

She remembered the letters her younger brother used to send, always filled with stories about Mr. Jones. A huge fan, that one.

She couldn’t help but imagine his reaction upon meeting the man himself—fainting mid-handshake, or maybe stuttering so much he’d bite his tongue.

The image made her giggle.

She covered her mouth quickly, realizing Jones had noticed.

Awkwardly, she glanced away, her face tinged pink. How many more embarrassing moments would she rack up in front of him?

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered.

“Let me guess,” he said, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he rested his chin atop his cane. “You went down childhood memory lane again, huh?”

“You guessed it,” she said with an awkward laugh. “I really miss them. The closer the train gets to home, the faster my heart races. I just can’t help it.” Her gaze wandered to the window, her eyes glistening softly in the moonlight.

It had been 23 hours since she boarded, and so much had happened. Sleep refused to come—perhaps because of her unplanned nap earlier… or maybe because she was sharing a cabin with the legendary Mr. Jones himself.

With a quiet chuckle, Mr. Jones tilted his head and looked out the window too.

“Yeah… I can relate. That feeling of returning after a long while—it’s exciting, and a little nerve-wracking. Brings back memories. I remember when my mother used to drop me off at my uncle’s place during the holidays. Every time she came to pick me up, I’d jump in joy and press my face to the cab window all the way home.” He paused. “It’s been a while since I felt that way… I must say, I envy your childishness.”

Mandy turned from the window, her eyes full of admiration. She had never considered herself a huge fan of his per se, but she had always admired his work.

And now, seeing this side of him was, fascinating…

She opened her mouth to speak, but he gently cut in.

“Well, I think we’ve chatted enough for tonight. Let’s get some sleep and prepare for tomorrow, Miss. So… goodnight, I suppose.”

With that, he leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and slowly drifting into slumber.

Mandy watched him for a moment, then whispered a quiet “Goodnight,” before tucking herself in too.

Sleep didn’t come to her right away. She gazed out the window, watching the world go by—the hills, the distant homes, the gentle flutter of autumn leaves.

The trees wore shades of gold and amber, deepening her love for the fall season. The rhythmic hum of the train on the tracks, paired with the faint chill that brushed her skin, and the especially loud honks of the train, offered an odd sense of comfort.

Eventually, her eyes closed. And with a small, unknowing smile, Mandy fell asleep.