She screams again as Joscelin presses the stake in that bit more. God, the pain is unbelievable. But then it's gone, the pressure against her body, holding her upright is gone, and she falls, crumpled in a heap. Her hand finds her chest: there's a big hole in her t-shirt and a bigger one in her chest. She presses her palm against her wound, savouring the pain.

Slowly, she drags her legs into a tuck position, and she leans her head back against the brick wall. She glances up at Joscelin when he orders her to his flat. Little bastard. If she had the energy, she'd spit at him. As it is, she simply nods once, and looks away. He'll be after her again if she doesn't agree.

"I want a new t-shirt." She glances up at him again. "You've ripped my only one."

Eponine knows that Bunhill Fields is a good walk away: in this state, she's got no hope of getting there. But there is a large metal communal bin in the alley: it looks like she's in for a smelly day's sleep.