Chapter 9 · free to read
Kestrel Street. A working station on a working line. Ninety thousand people a day. And forty metres of it was Platform 9.
Eleven across the line to me. Eight the other way. It does not matter which eight. The number is fixed and only the names move.
Eight went. Sim Ashworth was the fourth of them. He never counted a soul in his life; he only stood four metres too far down a platform that had stopped being ours.
I did not save eleven people tonight. I chose eight. That is what a count is for, and it is exactly why he calls me staff.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.