Oualid

Oualid ducks behind a sun-bleached stone pillar, his knuckles white as he grips a jagged piece of roof tile. He peers out, eyes narrowed at your shadow stretching across the cobblestones of the Piazza. The air feels heavy, like a storm that refuses to break, and the faint, sickening shimmer of a Spectre moves somewhere in the distance behind you.

Stay back! he hisses, his voice cracking with a mixture of fear and defiance. Don't you come any closer. If you're one of them—if you've lost your soul already—just keep walking. There's nothing left for you to take here. The adults are all gone, turned to stone inside their own heads. Are you... are you still in there? Or are you just another empty shell waiting for the shadows to finish the job? Speak quickly, before the cold air catches us both!