“Why does it bother you? It’s your name, after all.”

“Our name is Chaos!”

The demon soldier tried to lunge across the table toward José, but the chains held fast and snapped him back into his seat. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to rip you to pieces.”

“The demon will never let you go, Rodrigo . . . but you can let go of it. I know it doesn’t feel that way. I know it feels like fishhooks pulling at your flesh, but I promise you it is in your power to release the beast. Only you can do this.”

“Lies,” the Dark One seethed and Jed saw a snarling twisted double visage appear for the first time, superimposed over the Chilean man’s face. “It is too late for him. I am all he has left after your God abandoned him. Together we are Chaos and only through me can he find strength.”

“Does it frighten you, Chaos—the thought of Rodrigo letting you go?”

“I fear nothing. I will kill all of you, and your God will do nothing to stop me.”

“Ah, but that is a lie, Chaos,” José said, crossing his legs like a professor having an academic debate with his graduate student, “because we both know you can’t hurt me. I belong to Yeshua. I am protected from you.”

“Do not speak that name,” the man screamed, his voice shrill and his eyes flaring deep red. “And I don’t need to hurt you—I can have the mortal do it. He is free to choose.”

“Yes,” José said, leaning in now and nodding. “He is free to choose. And you’re right, he can choose the path of violence, and nothing protects me from that . . . except for my years of military training and my friends here. But you, Chaos—I reject you. You have no power over me.”

The man’s head tilted back, chin toward the ceiling, and he let out a bloodcurdling scream that, to Jed, sounded like an animal in pain.

“But he can also choose the other path. The path of redemption. The path of love. And that is what I offer him now—a choice. A choice that has always been there, but one that you have kept from him, because you, Chaos, are afraid of us because of the power of Yeshua.” José leaned in, putting his elbows on the table. “I know you can hear me, Rodrigo. Do not let Chaos rob you of your voice. If you want to speak with me, then you can do so . . .”

“You will not have him!” Chaos screamed, but José was unfazed.

“It’s never too late to repent. It’s never too late for forgiveness, Rodrigo. It’s never too late for God’s love.”

“It’s too late for me,” the man said, the timbre of his voice changing for the first time and a shuddering sigh following.