The Concourse
The premise
You wake on a climbing funicular with one thing left: your name, Cade. It delivers you to the Concourse — a lamplit railway station buried deep beneath the earth, run by teenagers who all arrived the same way. By day, Linewalkers chalk-map the shifting tunnels of the Web, hunting a way to the surface. By night, the third rail hums alive, and the Coilhounds come.
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How it opens
Lamplight rises past the window, rung by rung, until the funicular shudders still and the doors fold open on marble. A station hall wide as a cathedral: oil lamps strung between iron pillars, green light spilling from platforms terraced with growing things, rust streaking the walls like old water. Teenagers set down tools and turn — twenty, thirty of them, every face your age, not one of them familiar. Not even your own hands are familiar. You have a name, Cade, and nothing to hang it on. …
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