Ellie Pearson had lived in Seattle long enough to know that getting to work on time was never guaranteed. The city had a way of interfering—sometimes subtly, like a misty drizzle that made every bus run just a little late, and sometimes dramatically, like an unexpected street closure that rerouted half of downtown into gridlock. Today, though, she had done everything right. She had checked the transit schedules, packed her bag the night before, and even set out her shoes by the door so she wouldn’t waste time looking for them.
She was ready.
Or so she thought.
The moment she stepped outside, she walked straight into a metal construction barrier.
She recoiled, blinking at the newly erected fence blocking off the entire sidewalk. A sign announced, in bold, unfriendly letters: SIDEWALK CLOSED – USE OTHER SIDE.
Ellie turned her head. The “other side” required crossing Broadway, where cars were already inching forward in early-morning congestion, and an entire row of cyclists zipped past in their dedicated lane, rain jackets glistening under the streetlights. Pedestrians were darting across whenever they saw an opening, but she wasn’t in the mood to play a game of chance with Seattle traffic.
With a sigh, she turned back and took the longer route around the block. It wasn’t a huge delay, but it was already eating into the carefully planned extra time she had given herself.
By the time she made it to the light rail station, she was moving at a determined pace, pulling her coat tighter against the damp morning air. She swiped her ORCA card, listening for the familiar confirmation beep, and hurried down to the platform.
The train was already approaching. Good. She stepped inside just as the doors slid open, grateful for the rush of warm air replacing the cold drizzle outside. The car was crowded, but not unbearable—the usual mix of office workers clutching coffee cups, students with backpacks slung over one shoulder, and the occasional early-morning tourist checking maps on their phone.
She exhaled, finally letting herself relax. Everything was fine. She would still make it.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A message from her boss, Caitlin.
CAITLIN: Any chance you can be in by 8:30? Client call got moved up.
Ellie checked the time. It would be tight, but if everything went smoothly—
The screen above the train doors blinked. NEXT STOP: INTERNATIONAL DISTRICT.
Her stomach tensed. That wasn’t right.
She turned to the man next to her—a guy in a Patagonia vest, AirPods in, giving off the air of someone who commuted so frequently that minor inconveniences no longer registered.
“This is the airport train, isn’t it?” she asked, already bracing for the answer.
He barely glanced up. “Yep.”
Ellie pressed her lips together, gripping the metal pole a little tighter.
Wonderful.
There was nothing she could do now but wait until the next stop and switch directions, costing her at least fifteen minutes. She took a slow breath, trying not to dwell on it.
When the train pulled into International District, she stepped onto the platform, immediately scanning for the correct train back toward SoDo. She spotted it on the opposite platform, swiped her ORCA card again, and made it inside just as the doors closed behind her.
For a moment, she allowed herself to feel relief. She was back on track. She could still—
The train slowed. Then stopped.
Not at a station.
A static-filled voice crackled over the intercom.
“We are currently experiencing delays due to a, uh… mechanical issue. We appreciate your patience.”
A collective groan rippled through the train car. Ellie closed her eyes.
Her phone buzzed again. Caitlin.
CAITLIN: Stuck in traffic. I might be late.
Ellie exhaled, shaking her head as she typed back.
ELLIE: Same. Train stopped in the middle of the tunnel.
A few dots appeared as Caitlin typed.
CAITLIN: I hate this city.
Ellie stared at the message for a moment, then let out a quiet laugh.
ELLIE: Yeah. Me too.
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Ellie Pearson had lived in Seattle long enough to know that getting to work on time was never guaranteed. The city had a way of interfering—sometimes subtly, like a misty drizzle that made every bus run just a little late, and sometimes dramatically, like an unexpected street closure that rerouted half of downtown into gridlock. Today, though, she had done everything right. She had checked the transit schedules, packed her bag the night before, and even set out her shoes by the door so she wouldn’t waste time looking for them.
She was ready.
Or so she thought.
The moment she stepped outside, she walked straight into a metal construction barrier.
She recoiled, blinking at the newly erected fence blocking off the entire sidewalk. A sign announced, in bold, unfriendly letters: SIDEWALK CLOSED – USE OTHER SIDE.
Ellie turned her head. The “other side” required crossing Broadway, where cars were already inching forward in early-morning congestion, and an entire row of cyclists zipped past in their dedicated lane, rain jackets glistening under the streetlights. Pedestrians were darting across whenever they saw an opening, but she wasn’t in the mood to play a game of chance with Seattle traffic.
With a sigh, she turned back and took the longer route around the block. It wasn’t a huge delay, but it was already eating into the carefully planned extra time she had given herself.
By the time she made it to the light rail station, she was moving at a determined pace, pulling her coat tighter against the damp morning air. She swiped her ORCA card, listening for the familiar confirmation beep, and hurried down to the platform.
The train was already approaching. Good. She stepped inside just as the doors slid open, grateful for the rush of warm air replacing the cold drizzle outside. The car was crowded, but not unbearable—the usual mix of office workers clutching coffee cups, students with backpacks slung over one shoulder, and the occasional early-morning tourist checking maps on their phone.
She exhaled, finally letting herself relax. Everything was fine. She would still make it.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A message from her boss, Caitlin.
CAITLIN: Any chance you can be in by 8:30? Client call got moved up.
Ellie checked the time. It would be tight, but if everything went smoothly—
The screen above the train doors blinked. NEXT STOP: INTERNATIONAL DISTRICT.
Her stomach tensed. That wasn’t right.
She turned to the man next to her—a guy in a Patagonia vest, AirPods in, giving off the air of someone who commuted so frequently that minor inconveniences no longer registered.
“This is the airport train, isn’t it?” she asked, already bracing for the answer.
He barely glanced up. “Yep.”
Ellie pressed her lips together, gripping the metal pole a little tighter.
Wonderful.
There was nothing she could do now but wait until the next stop and switch directions, costing her at least fifteen minutes. She took a slow breath, trying not to dwell on it.
When the train pulled into International District, she stepped onto the platform, immediately scanning for the correct train back toward SoDo. She spotted it on the opposite platform, swiped her ORCA card again, and made it inside just as the doors closed behind her.
For a moment, she allowed herself to feel relief. She was back on track. She could still—
The train slowed. Then stopped.
Not at a station.
A static-filled voice crackled over the intercom.
“We are currently experiencing delays due to a, uh… mechanical issue. We appreciate your patience.”
A collective groan rippled through the train car. Ellie closed her eyes.
Her phone buzzed again. Caitlin.
CAITLIN: Stuck in traffic. I might be late.
Ellie exhaled, shaking her head as she typed back.
ELLIE: Same. Train stopped in the middle of the tunnel.
A few dots appeared as Caitlin typed.
CAITLIN: I hate this city.
Ellie stared at the message for a moment, then let out a quiet laugh.
ELLIE: Yeah. Me too.
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