At the old Silent Station, the neon lights went out and the loudspeakers hissed with an empty hum. Lena, the watchmaker's seventeen-year-old daughter, waited for the night tram, counting the patches of light on the tracks. Someone had left a thin book on the bench, smelling of dust and ozone, clipped together with nickel brackets. As she moved it closer to the edge, the cover trembled like a string, as if she could hear a hidden rhythm. The title, embossed pale silver, sounded in a full whisper: The Book of the Gate on the Rails. The first page bore only the rules, written in spare, fine, sharp handwriting. First: don't step onto the tracks unless the clock shows a full minute. Second: don't touch the barrier when the board suddenly stops flashing. Third: if you hear your name from the speakers, always answer with a question. Lena smiled crookedly, as if someone was playing a joke that only the night knows. Before she called Maks's name, she looked deep into the platform where the forbidden Seventh began. The zipped-up grating glistened with water, even though it wasn't raining, and the number shimmered like an old neon sign. Lena flipped through the pages and found a map that moved stations when she moved her finger. Two Silents glowed red: one on the edge of town, the other next to the words Where Elsewhere. The instructions underneath were simple: place the book on the threshold, tap the metal three times. The rasp of a tram around the corner reached her, so she took the watchmaker's key out of her pocket. The gold of the tool touched the edge and the air vibrated as if catching its first breath. The board, dead for years, glowed milky and tapped out a message without a sound. An off-schedule train will be coming from the left, please keep quiet, please ask questions. Lena tightened her fingers on the book and whispered: what's on the other side? The speakers crackled the air and the echo from the tunnel repeated her name, very clearly. - Lena Nowicka, to you? - asked the Station, in a tone that was foreign but polite. She answered with a question, as the rule dictated: what happens if I say no? Then a long carriage, driverless, with windows full of fog, drove out of the darkness. A shadow moved in the first window, the shape of her watch and her hand. The book moved of its own accord, the clasps clicked and the grille moved wide aside. - 'Come in if you want your time back,' the board whispered, starting to count down from ten. Lena took half a step back, then caught her breath and lifted the book. Lines lit up between the tracks, forming a dial whose symbols she knew from the workshop. Ten. Nine.