The train reached London in the early afternoon.
Phillip felt the change before he saw it. The countryside gave way to tighter spacing, shorter pauses between buildings, smoke that no longer drifted but layered. The rhythm of the rails stayed the same, but everything beyond the window pressed closer together, as if the city had learned to economize space the way it did time.
When the train slowed into the station, sound rushed in all at once. Voices overlapping. Iron striking iron. Steam venting in sharp bursts. Porters moving with practiced impatience. London did not wait for anyone to get their bearings.
Phillip rose with the others and stepped onto the platform without hesitation. He carried only a small bag. No escort waited for him. He had declined one.
That alone earned him a few looks.
