From the moment he saw her bustling around her office, he knew she was his, and his heart sank.

She was unaware of him; he existed in the shadows, as all his kind did, protecting and watching over their charges from beyond.

Though they kept something of a distance, should the need arise, they could be there in an instant. All it took was a sign, some sort of signal that told them a charge needed help.

He'd had many charges in his second life. After the first hundred, he stopped counting. No matter the age, ethnicity, social status etc. of those in his care, they all needed his help, whatever it was.

In his first life, he'd been much the same as he was now, a protector of innocents, despite not being very innocent himself. At thirty five, while in the midst of a fight, he'd been gunned down. Fortunately, death had been instantaneous and he found himself in a strange hall, garbed in a thick robe with velvet trim.

They told him he was a Sighteer, an otherworldly defender. And of course, he wasn't the only one. There were millions of Sighteer, of all ages, and backgrounds. Each was chosen at the moment of death and assigned to one or more living people to protect from harm, whatever it was. They protected the charge from the moment of assignment until the charge passed away; often a charge became a Sighteer themselves.

She was his two hundredth, he guessed. Sadness engulfed him as he watched her. He'd known her in life. In fact, they'd been best friends, some even said they were soulmates.

He knew she'd grieved for him, had been her Sighteer for all of two minutes when she'd made the vow to never forget him.

His eyes went to the ring she wore on her right hand. It was his, a token she'd given him just a week before he'd died.

He wanted so badly to touch her, to let her know he was there and would never, could never, leave her.

But only the Privileged were allowed to know of a Sighteer's existence, and she was not.

He sighed, hand reaching out anyway to stroke her arm as he'd often done in life, but it was a touch she couldn't feel.

Heart aching, he reluctantly followed her as she left the office, praying to every Sighteer the world over that she got home safely.

He would not have her join him in this existence, not yet. She was too pure and good, even for a Sighteer.

The only respite from his heartache came at night, when he laid next to her and dreamed of what had been, was and would be.

And his dreams always featured her.