Page 45 of The Light Within

The sky was an ominous, murky grey, the light levels so dim it felt almost like nighttime.

Westminster Bridge might have been only round the corner, but the rain turned the trek into a marathon. As they sprinted across slick pavement that was more puddle than concrete, a squall brought more water lashing down upon them with relentless fury, drenching them to the bone and blurring the cityscape into a watery haze.

Elliot, leading the charge, jogged backwards, shouting, “The Baths for this side of London are close to here—underneath Waterloo Station, hidden in the Leake Street Arches. So it shouldn’t betoolong until they arrive.”

But that would only be the handful of officers actually at Auri today. Most of the gendarmerie would be at home enjoying Christmas Eve, relaxing with their families. How quickly could they possibly get here?

For every two steps they took, a howling, wildly strong wind pushed them back.

“This isn’t normal weather!” Darcy might have shouted over the deafening gale, followed by something about a hurricane.

London was in chaos: umbrellas turned inside out, people darting for cover, other people shouting and pointing in the direction of the bridge. Sirens wailed in the distance.

Cinn attempted to regulate his erratic breathing. He only had moments left to prepare for what was to come. He was about to encounter an unknown number of umbraphages. His previous two experiences with them hadn’t been pleasant. The sensible thing would be torun, run like the wind in the other direction and keep running. That’s what any sane person would do.

But Cinn wasn’t a sane person. Never had been. And he wasn’t about to go and cower in some corner when the lives of the people he cared most about were on the line.

More injured people staggered past them, haunted looks of terror plain on their faces. One middle-aged woman caught sight of the four of them runningtowardsthe danger. She was wearing a yellow mackintosh, raindrops washing off traces of blood. She gave them several violent shakes of her head, throwing her arm out to block their path.

“What are you doing?” she screamed in Elliot’s face as he tried to push her out of the way.

Darting around her, they increased their pace.

A blood-curdling scream pierced the air, followed by a thunderous crash.

Mere metres from them, an enormous truck had overturned in the middle of the road, its twisted metal frame skidding across the rain-soaked tarmac and blocking off access to the road leading to the bridge.

“Putain! That’s all we need!”

A woman in St. Thomas’s hospital scrubs darted towards the truck, closely followed by more staff.

Cinn couldn’t take his eyes off the truck’s driver, the sound and sight of the accident taking him back a decade to the only other car crash he’d witnessed. As if sharing in his memory, the warding band warmed.

Julien grabbed Cinn’s arm. Yanked hard. “Come on!”

Thunderclaps. Mighty splashes of puddles as their footsteps pounded. Shouts and cries of pure panic, muffled by the ruthless, incessant downpour.

Then, in the near distance, through the haze, the bridge came into view.

And so did two deadbodies.

Forms illuminated by the dim glow of streetlights, they lay sprawled across the wet pavement, motionless, the chaotic scene around them a chilling contrast to their stillness.

Cinn found his eyes drawn to Julien’s as he ran alongside him, his own fear reflecting back at him. Shielding his head from the rain with his hand, Julien’s eyes, as grey as the stormy sky above them, grew wide, his expression tender as he reached for Cinn’s hand.

“Cinn—”

Cinn cut him off with a brief press of his lips against Julien’s. “Later,” he promised, directly into his ear. Because therewouldbe a later. There had to be.

Westminster Bridge now loomed ahead, a hint of its Gothic arches and ornate lamp posts visible through sheets of rain. A flash of lightning split open the stormy sky, casting fleeting glimpses ofsomethingfar ontothe bridge. Something dark. Something shadowy. Something that shot an instant jolt of terror through Cinn’s every limb, slowing him down.

Two? Three? It was impossible to tell how many umbraphages hovered threateningly in the air, the amorphous entities writhing their tentacle-like appendages in the air amidst the swirling rain.

“There’s still people over there!”

Indeed, there was a sprinkle of blurry figures attempting to dash across the bridge.

“What the fuck are they doing running towards them? Why are they being so stupid?” shouted Cinn.

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