It was as if the air had solidified in the dim hallway, I suddenly found it hard to breathe. The metallic smell of blood overwhelmed my senses, and the path ahead swam before my eyes as the torchlights flickered on either side. Rough and angry voices echoed from the room at the end of the hallway. Never have I dreaded what I might find in that room as I do now.

My steps came to a halt as I reached out with a trembling hand to steady myself against the rough-hewn wall. The heavy, oppressive feeling of dread was so strong that I couldn't take another step.

Get your act together, Jess!

I drew in a breath, locked my eyes on the passage before me, and deliberately resumed my steps.

The room's thick, oak door was reinforced by iron bars, rough with age. Left ajar, I slipped through.

Two heavyset men, the same men who had taken Claude on Alastair's orders, stood over him. The sparse light revealed a spreading dark stain where he lay on the bare stone floor. The men held metal rods and had beaten him to the point of death. I leaned against the wall for support, my legs suddenly weak as my mind reeled from shock and helpless anger. These bastards!

It wasn't enough that Alastair had murdered his brother. Why would he go to such lengths, and what does he hope to gain? I couldn't understand the depth of his hatred.

Claude lay in a pool of his blood, unmoving. But what shook me the most was the state of his hands. They were completely crushed beyond recognition. His silver eyes were glazed with agony as they stared sightlessly into the room's shifting shadows.

The taller of the men crouched beside Claude, extending a hand to his neck to feel for a pulse. "He's dead, or a hair from getting there," he coldly pronounced. "Hard to believe he can still put up a fight when you blabbed about the fire." He rose, nursing a split lip and rubbing his jaw.

The other man shuffled his feet, his nervous gaze shifting to the door. "He musta 'ave some resistance to the poison. T'was s'posed to do the job."

"Well, clearly it hasn't, Leif," the tall man snarled, tossing the metal rod on the floor with a loud clang. He turned to his companion with an exasperated look. 

Leif glanced at Claude's broken body and visibly paled. "Ya think we overdid it, Bjorn? We still 'ave to get paid—"

"'Not a bone must be spared', just as he wanted." Bjorn shrugged. "I'm not about to question the master's wishes. He and Pieter should be here any minute."

A sound that was barely above a whisper, like the sigh of wind on a quiet night, drew my attention from the men back to Claude. My breath caught as a pure, white light slowly rose from his corporeal form.

It was so blinding that I had to cover my eyes with my hand as the men talked, unaware of what was going on. I haven't seen anything like it in the many years since I've had the sight. I squinted as the light began to take shape.

Depending on the nature of their deaths, the souls of the newly dead can materialize in various shades of the spectrum. At one end, white typically indicates a quiet and peaceful passing, while shades of red or black signify a violent death. Most souls retain the appearance they had in the prime of their mortal life.

But Claude's soul took the form of a child.

A young soul, innocent and unblemished.

A soul that Azriel would kill to possess and devour.

I gasped, looking around the room for the demon's presence.

"Claude—!" I whispered urgently, getting up on my feet to go to him.

The boy's bewildered, silver eyes glanced at me for a moment before his gaze returned to the body on the ground.

Claude's soul was still tethered to his body by a thin thread of light. His small frame shook at the sight of his body and an anguished cry escaped his lips. Turning his face away, he wrapped his arms around himself, a small, solitary light in the encroaching darkness.

Can he see or hear me?

I knelt next to him and reached out tentatively, lightly touching his arm. He flinched at the contact, but he did not feel as solid as when I had first grasped his hand at our first meeting.

Claude raised his head, looking back up at me.

He appeared no older than five, but I now know without a doubt that he was the same boy I had met at the orphanage all those years ago. I suddenly realized, as those fragmented memories resurfaced, that I had seen him a few more times during those lonely, difficult years of my stay there. But I had decided that chapter of my life was better off forgotten.

I had even forgotten him.

"Claude, I don't know if you can hear me, but you— you have to let go now." I tried to hide the urgency in my voice as I held my hand out to him.

Was this why I was brought here, not only as a witness, but to save him? If I can change the past, even a little, will I be able to free him in the future?

"I—I'm scared," the boy whispered, wiping his tear-stained cheeks with a trembling hand. "What will happen to my parents, to my brother? I don't want to leave them!"

Alastair? I barely stopped myself from showing my disgust. Your brother is the one who murdered you.

My thoughts raced as realization dawned on me. He doesn't remember what happened to him or how he died. Did he regress as a child to forget the trauma of his death? But as I looked deeper, I found that something was very wrong.

His soul had been fractured, the pieces of him lost in the darkness until only the child—that bright, pure core of him remained.

How is this even possible? Was this Alastair's doing, or Azriel? With his soul incomplete, will he be able to cross over to the other side and move on?

I tried my best to smile at him, hoping to ease his fears. I need to get Claude out of here before that demon arrives. "How about we find your parents together? I'm sure they're waiting for you."

"Do you promise?" His eyes lit up in relief.

I nodded.

He suddenly wrapped his small arms around me, resting his dark, curly head against my chest.

I watched as the sliver of light that anchored Claude's spirit to his body faded, as he finally let go.

He's truly gone. I felt a strange, deep ache in my chest, and fought back tears. As I held his bright, childlike soul in my arms, a powerful emotion gripped me: Azriel will never have Claude's soul, not if I can help it!

I hurriedly got up, holding him close, my skin prickling with sudden dread.

The torchlights flickered several times, threatening to plunge the room in darkness; but there was no wind to speak of in this subterranean place.

I barely managed to get back out the door when I sensed a malevolent presence fill the entire room.

"What do we have here?" A sibilant voice, sharp and grating, echoed off the walls.

I shuddered at the familiar, abrasive tone as Alastair's men glanced around, tightly gripping their metal bludgeons.

Standing outside the open door with my heart in my throat, I heard a clicking sound—like the noise a rattlesnake makes when it is angered.

"You dare destroy what belongs to me?"