The terminal stood dark and empty.

No lights glowed inside the building.

No passengers waited outside with luggage.

No ferries sat behind the terminal.

A mile away, another ship towered above the harbor beside a building labeled TERMINAL 1 in giant illuminated letters.

“Let’s go there,” Dani said.

I looked at our tickets. They still said Terminal 2.

We ran anyway.

~

By the time we reached the harbor, the ferry rose above us like an apartment building covered in lights.

Inside, the terminal was almost luxurious compared with the abandoned building we’d left behind: a glass atrium, escalators, polished floors, rows of waiting passengers.

Then the doors opened, and we boarded.

Long corridors twisted through rows of bolted-down chairs upholstered in neon zigzag fabric. Disco balls hung from the ceilings above worn carpeting.

Dani wanted another giant Toblerone from the duty-free shop, but metal gates covered the entrance.

Nothing was open.

Not the cafés.

Not the bars.

Not even the shops.

~

Dani found a seat near the entrance while I wandered the ship alone, looking for somewhere we could sleep.

More corridors. More chairs. More carpeting.

I moved upstairs.

Every floor looked the same.

At last, I passed a stage where a small band played halfheartedly to six silent passengers seated near the front.

Near the upper floors, I found a cluster of oversized fabric chairs around low coffee tables. They didn’t recline, but they were soft enough to stretch across.

I memorized the route back through the maze and returned for Dani.

She was still sitting where I’d left her, eyes closed but not asleep.

“Come on. I found somewhere we can survive until Tallinn.”