And that counted for something.
CHAPTER 19
Nox
We left before the village could wake up.
That was always the rule; move while the world was still rubbing sleep from its eyes. Tamsin set the pace, pack on her shoulders, knife at her thigh, gaze fixed a mile ahead. Elias walked just behind her. Griff ranged wide, keeping watch on the hedgerows and tree lines. Bishop kept up the pace, but I knew his mind was whirling a mile a minute. Eamon moved last, making sure no one lagged, eyes always flicking back to check behind us.
And me? I took point.
The land sloped down into a cut where old rail lines once ran, the earth giving way to stone and rusted iron. There was an old train tunnel waiting for us down at the bottom of the hill.
“It’s going to be dark inside,” I warned. “Eyes adjust faster than you think though. If it gets too dark, we have some flashlights.”
Tamsin nodded and raised a hand. The group stilled, then moved again, quietly. We slipped inside.
Our footsteps crunched on gravel and grit. Somewhere deep ahead, water dripped in a steady rhythm, like a clock that had never been wound down.
I knew this place.
London had veins like this everywhere, forgotten rail lines and maintenance tunnels that used to function two centuries ago and I’d been through this exact one not long ago.
We moved single file at first, then staggered out when the tunnel widened.
We’d been walking maybe fifteen minutes when I saw a recessed niche that should have been full of supplies, but it was empty. There were no crates, no water tins, and no wrapped rations.
I raised a fist.
Everyone behind me froze.
“There should have been supplies here,” I said. “I left some the last time I went through here.”
Tamsin didn’t look rattled. She looked… thoughtful. “What does that tell us?”
“That someone knows this route,” I said. “Or stumbled into it and got lucky.”
Bishop tilted his head, listening. “I don’t hear anyone.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re gone, though,” I replied.
I scanned the ceiling, the side alcoves, the long dark path ahead. My pulse stayed even. This wasn’t fear. This was caution. This was angles and exits, sound and shadow. It felt familiar in a way that made my shoulders loosen.
“There’s an alternate route not far off,” I said.
Elias met Tamsin’s eyes. She nodded. “Show us.”
We moved again. There was a spur that opened like a slit in the wall, barely wide enough to shoulder through. Icy cold water ran ankle-deep. The ceiling dipped low, but it was cracked in places enough to let a shred or two of light in. I counted steps automatically, tracking where we could double back if we had to.
“Stop,” Tamsin said softly.
I halted. She moved up beside me, eyes on the junction ahead where the spur split again. The right branch sloped upward, the left dipped deeper.
“Left’s safer,” I said. “But slower.”
She considered that, then nodded. “You and I take a look.”
Elias started to object, then stopped himself. He watched us for a beat, then said, “Five minutes.”
