Circles of cheap artificial light surrounded each electric lamp on the narrow road. Grimy merchants and cast-off beggars sat in the shadows of the light, close enough to see, but far enough to judge for trouble. Besides those on business, and those too young to understand, no one interrupts those lights. A black clad stranger is indistinguishable from the dark shadows of the alleyways, clinging to the dark and damp walls of each building. Her boots barely clack on the chipped sidewalk, giving her a ghostlike quality.

A veil hangs low over her face, out of fashion but not unusual, and therefore not eye-catching. That's what she wants. For she is hunted, while she also seeks. Her wide eyes hide behind the veil, searching the streets for hope and for danger. They see neither.

Broken glass lines the pavement, catching on the occasional bare foot of a child playing in the dark street. Their screeches of pain and humor jab her ears, but she doesn't mind. Children will be children, wherever they may be. Stuffy men in pristine suits stroll arm-in-arm with drunken women, their laughter and clacking of shoes illuminate their apathy towards the people that grovel below them, and for a moment the stranger tightens her fists. Then she releases. She mustn't get involved.

Sweeping past the snobs, she listens once more. Drunken laughter and shouts echo from the fluorescent-lighted bars, along with muffled groans from the nearby alleyways. High-pitched voices call from street corners, appealing to every well-dressed individual. One of them, a haggard blond with a low-cut velvet dressed poses as a black Sedan pulls over. Her smeared lips smile, though her haunted eyes don't. A fellow prostitute was murdered not far away, the second in a week. She was naturally worried. A small prayer formed on the strangers lips, for overall safety and for her future.

She marched on.

"Oi, little lady, why not join me for a pint?" a drunken oaf boasted between bars at her. "We could get to know each other."

Ignoring the man, she continues on her path. No one must see her, for they would surely take advantage of her. Not to mention that they could be a part of her hunter's undercover agency. No, they wouldn't know her. Absurd, but not impossible. Never impossible.

She doesn't belong here, not on this street more that the city itself. It shouldn't feel comforting, but it provides a sense of familiarity for the stranger. She will never belong anywhere, not truly. Not ever.

So she clings to the shadows, deeper and deeper into the center of London.

She walks on.

Alone.