She ran as though she knew the streets with careless familiarity -- as if even the smaller daily changes and whims, like a huddle of streetwalkers clustered in one alley-entrance way were known, as Eve swerved between running where the light fell and where the shadows were - although each time she disappeared into darkness, the distances she waited for the other two to keep up were shorter, although her impatience was clear even without her broadcasting it. When she ran, it was too fast a pace to keep up and when she stopped to wait, it was evident that she wasn't even running full-out.
They were moving closer toward the nastier places, where the women-clusters in the edges of the streetlamps' fall were glazed of eye and the men who walked in groups and spoke in low voices were the kind that might well fall onto the point of Wren's knife -- but as one place in particular came up ahead, a neon sign sputtering itself as 'the Crows Nest' up above, Eve didn't swerve away and curl their route around it the way she had other similar places. She slowed, almost to a walk and with a look behind her to the two coming up close on her heels, she stopped in front of the man lolling against the door, all thick muscle gone quite completely to seed, and he bent down to hear her.
The body language telegraphed was easy enough to read; Eve said something, and there was a chorus of bawdy laughter from both the door man and the few men too drunk to go on drinking inside -- they looked over to the oncoming pair themselves, and the doorman shook his head as Eve pressed a light kiss to his cheek, and sauntered on past him into the bar. Clearly, this was their stopping point.