His heart ached so sharply it made the physical pain feel dull in comparison.
The rain kept falling, steady and cold. The world seemed smaller now, closing in around him.
His fingers twitched. The black flame sputtered once, then died completely.
He could feel it, that creeping chill crawling up from the wound, spreading through his veins.
The infection.
He looked down. His hand was trembling.
"No…" he whispered. "Not like this."
He tried to stand, but his legs gave out beneath him. He hit the ground hard, coughing. His vision doubled, the street spinning, the world tilting sideways.
He laughed again, but it was a hollow, broken sound.
"I always said I'd die next to you, Alvin. Guess the universe thought I needed a reminder of how bad it can screw with me."
He tilted his head back, eyes unfocused, staring up at the gray sky. The rain blurred everything into watercolor.
For a moment, he thought he saw movement, a shape in the mist, dark and shifting.
