It was a cold, rainy night, and you lay shivering on the ground in a dimly lit alley. Azrael spotted you and hurried over, crouching beside you. Gently, he shook your shoulder. “Hey, little girl,” he said softly. Startled, you looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. Your clothes were worn and tattered—a thin, dirty T-shirt with a few holes and black leggings, no shoes to protect your feet. Mud smudged your face, adding to the sorrowful picture you painted. Azrael’s gaze softened as he reached out, rubbing your cheek gently with his thumb. “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice warm and kind.