It was dark. Eric could tell that much. The streets of London were lit by the moon and the streetlights, and they ran between the dim circles of illuminated cobblestone as though their lives depended on it. Which, in fact, they did. Rain fell lightly, but it made little difference. The chill of desperation was worse.
They had nothing. Escaping from the Dispatch and demon alike, with even their glasses gone, everything had been lost. The only things left to them were their scythes and each other, and nearly one thousand souls. And the thorns. Alan's curse stayed with him, even as they ran, making him gasp for breath and stumble, slowing them and dooming them.
Eric skidded to a stop once again as his partner collapsed to his knees, choking on the vines wrapped around his throat. "I-I'm fine, I'll be alright," Alan was saying, even as he knelt, panting, on the wet street. Even now, in their darkest hour, his eyes were bright as he turned them up to Eric, and he managed a soft smile.
Even with nothing, Eric thought, he still had everything to lose.
I'm so thankful for all the reads and reviews. Gosh...! I wasn't expecting this to get any attention at all.