Just as the shadows touched Sterling's throat, Elias caught a glimpse of himself in a polished silver tray. He looked monstrous—not because of any physical change, but because of the pure, unadulterated joy on his face as he prepared to do something terrible.
Should we delve deeper into to keep the door shut, or the devil in me
"It’s not me," Elias would tell himself, gripping the edge of his workbench until his knuckles turned white. "It’s the best of you," the shadow would retort. Just as the shadows touched Sterling's throat, Elias
Elias felt his vision split. He saw his own hand reach out—not to hand over the clock, but to grip Sterling’s wrist. He felt the strength of ten men coiled in his muscles. His reflection in the glass of the clock wasn't his own face; it was a void with burning, amber eyes. "It’s the best of you," the shadow would retort
“Let him have it,” the Elias-part of his brain screamed. “He doesn't deserve the time he’s been given,” the Devil sang.