Old Street had always been noisy.
Not because life was thriving there, but because survival never stayed silent for long. Traders argued over scraps of food, scavengers exchanged rumours gathered from distant stations, and the endless movement of people created a constant murmur beneath the cracked concrete arches of the Underground.
Yet on this particular day, something felt different.
Harvey moved through the crowded market with careful, measured steps. The white suit he wore made him stand out among the station’s residents, a dangerous thing in a world where anonymity often meant survival. Every glance lingered a little too long. Every unfamiliar face seemed to carry a question he did not want answered.
He was not searching for supplies.
He was searching for Fiona.
The deeper he moved into the market, the stronger the feeling became that something was wrong. Old Street remained busy, but beneath the noise he sensed a tension that could not be explained. Then he noticed an elderly couple watching him from across the crowd.
For only a moment, their eyes met.
Both immediately looked away.
Not out of embarrassment.
Recognition.
The reaction was brief, but it was enough.
In the Underground, being recognised by the wrong people could be more dangerous than being hunted.
As Harvey slipped between the market stalls and disappearing shadows, he realised he was no longer simply looking for Fiona. Someone else might already be looking for him.
And in the darkness beneath London, names carried power.
Some names could open doors.
Others could get you killed.
This is an excerpt from The London Tube, a post-apocalyptic novel set beneath the ruins of London, where fractured communities survive in abandoned Underground stations while hidden powers shape the fate of those who remain.
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