Damon left the castle an hour before noon.
He moved alone through the southern district, taking the longer route that kept him off the main streets. The city was quieter in this direction, fewer undead humans, the particular emptiness of ground nobody had claimed because nobody had wanted it.
South Court Station appeared ahead, its entrance half-buried under debris accumulated since the early days. The signage was still visible if you knew what you were looking at.
He descended without hesitation.
The underground was dark and still.
The tunnels smelled of old concrete and standing water, the kind of smell that had been there so long it had stopped being noticeable to anyone who spent time down here. Emergency lighting still functioned in patches, weak amber strips along the ceiling that created more shadows than illumination.
Damon moved through those shadows as if he belonged there.
