The corridor seemed wider than it needed to be, as though someone had carved out extra space for fear to settle in. Rust stained the sheet metal walls, condensation dripped steadily onto the cracked concrete, and the smell of stale smoke clung to the air long before Harvey reached the end of the passage.
Somewhere ahead, laughter echoed through the darkness. Bottles clinked. A saxophone struggled against the noise, its melody dissolving into conversations nobody would remember by morning.
He pulled his coat tighter and kept walking.
The station’s only pub had become a refuge for scouts, traders and people desperate to forget the world above. Harvey had never understood the appeal. Down here, alcohol always tasted of smoke, metal and burnt plastic. If he risked his life on the surface, he brought back food, filters and tools, not another excuse to lose himself.
The crooked door appeared through the haze, hanging unevenly from rusted hinges.
He pushed it open.
Warm air struck him at once, thick with damp wood, cigarette smoke and old whisky. Gas lamps flickered across tired faces, stretching shadows over the walls until they resembled silent figures waiting in the dark. Somewhere beyond the tables, musicians played softly enough that the music felt like another memory refusing to die.
Harvey scanned the room without sitting down.
He had not come for a drink.
He had come for a name, a rumour, a single trace that might lead him to two missing men.
And beneath the noise, beneath the smoke and the music, time continued slipping away. Every minute lost inside the Underground was another chance for someone to vanish forever.
Enter the darkness beneath London and discover more from The London Tube at http://www.thelondontube.co.uk
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