Chapter 5
176words
We changed our plans and went to the seaside town of Brighton.
Alaric wanted to start a business, but every path was blocked.
The Thornfield Pack's influence reached everywhere.
Those years we survived on my art. Days were tight—every penny split in half.
One Christmas Eve, my payment fell through, rent was overdue, and we found ourselves evicted into the bitter cold.
Alaric ducked into a convenience store to buy me hot tea. When he came out, he found me surrounded by drunks.
He nearly killed them.
The shopkeeper cursed him, threw a bottle at his forehead.
Alaric didn't even flinch. Just stood there, letting the glass slice his skin.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then wordlessly took my hand and walked away.
We'd walked blocks before he realized—his other hand still clutched a paper cup. The tea had long since spilled out.
That Christmas we wandered the streets, stretching our last twenty quid over seven miserable days.
Eventually the payment came through. We survived.
