A/N: I apologize for the extremely short chapter. I promise the next one will be longer! And, should the Doctor turn up? There's a poll on my profile.
Disclaimer: Honestly, you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned Torchwood?
She was running. It was cold, dark, snow was in the air, ice was on the ground. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, trying to ignore the cold and her pounding headache. The men chasing her was shouting, demanding for her to stop.
She was nearing Roald Dahls Plass, and saw a tourist office.
There. Hide there.
No, no, I need to carry on, they'll find me in there, for certain.
You cannot run anymore, and it is too cold out here. Hide. In there.
She tore up the door and hid behind the counter, holding a hand in front of her mouth to mute her shallow breath. Soon afterwards the door re-opened, and the two men chasing her entered.
"Come 'ere you little whore," the biggest, Daffyd, said. ʺNo use hidin', sweetheart.ʺ
"May I help you, sirs?" a voice that was definitly not Ethan's asked.
No one said a word. Lydia held her breath out of anxiety.
"No," Daffyd finally spat out. Lydia heard the door open and slam shut.
"You can come out now," the voice said, "they're gone."
She slowly stood up and looked at her saviour. He was wearing a suit, and wore a serious expression.
Can we trust him?
Yes.
And she passed out.