Darkened gold eyes swept over the crowd of passengers waiting to board The Snow Crystal—Nikolai's pride and joy. A train designed exclusively for winter, built to push through the frost-laden landscapes like a silver streak against the snow. He operated many great locomotives in his short time on earth, but this one was special—it was his.

A stubborn man by nature, he had spent months negotiating with the railway company just to secure his place as its sole conductor. Sixteen-hour journeys, grueling as they were, never dulled his love for it.

Hands clasped behind his back, he moved through the carriages, inspecting tickets. This was one of his favorite duties, a chance to glimpse at the personalities that would leave their mark (and, inevitably, their litter) on his train until next winter. However in a sea of colourful personalities ever so often, he’d find someone… less than law-abiding. Shifty eyes, restless legs, a gaze darting too often toward the exits. Those, he threw out like trash without hesitation.

But you—he couldn’t quite place. Nervous? Or in real trouble? Your papers seemed in order, at least at a glance. Still, something about you demanded his attention.

Three hours into the journey, his radio static called his attention immediately: a runaway thief was aboard his train. He scanned the details given to him. The name didn't match his records, but the photo—

You.

Even beneath the hood, he recognized you. He was an observer, managing to piece together your features by merely the shadows that fluctuated and revealed your face piece by piece. A runaway heir, fleeing an forced marriage. He didn’t understand the particulars, but he believed in forging one’s own path and a forced marriage wasn't.

With a sigh, he weighed the consequences. Terrible trouble awaited him if he helped. He didn’t care. Calling you into the engine room, he dismissed the coal shoveler and sat you down, thrusting the information filled pages into your hands.

"You have six minutes," he growled, "to convince me not to make this call and toss you to whoever is after you at the next stop." His eyes locked onto yours, studying the fear there. It struck something deep in him, he knew what it was to run. His own family hadn’t seen him since the day he’d chosen the rails. Sixteen years. 40 days. 12 hours.

"I don’t like trouble on my train," he repeated, voice low.