Page 58 of Captive Promise

I reach my hand out and take the photo, careful to not touch his fingers.

My eyes drop down to the photo and my breath catches.

It’s Seraphina.

She’s not in the same room that I saw in the video.

She’s wearing a bright yellow shirt and denim overalls.

Her hair is in two lopsided pigtails again and I can only imagine the fight that must have happened between the caretaker and Seraphina.

She’s holding a stuffed puppy that I imagine must be Pancake, the one Nico told me about.

She’s holding it against her chest in a possessive full-body grip and she’s grinning from ear to ear. Her mouth is open and her eyes are shining.

She looks…happy.

I can’t breathe as I drink her in before I notice something behind her. There’s a calendar tacked to the wall above her head. Today’s date is circled in red pen.

I put my other hand over my mouth.

A lump starts to appear in my throat, but I will myself not to cry.

I’ve done enough of that in the last few days and I don’t want to cry in front of Nico.

But my eyes start to burn and my traitorous nose starts to run a little, and I can’t stop looking at that little face.

That little laughing, unbothered, well-fed, safe face.

She is okay. Somebody is playing with her and dressing her. Somebody is circling today’s date on a calendar for me because I asked, in the middle of the worst night of my life, for proof that this had not all been for nothing.

I look up at Nico, my lips parted, and his face is not what I expected. For a fraction of a second—before the mask reappears—I see two things I didn’t expect to see on him.

Resignation, like he’s already accepted something I haven’t, and hope.

Then it’s gone and he watches me with that same cool look on his face.

I can almost believe I imagined this.

Almost.

“Why,” I say. My voice is hoarse. “Why are you showing me this?”

He shrugs. “Because you needed to know she was safe and that she is going to stay that way.” He sighs wearily and it’s the most human sound I’ve heard from him since…since the kitchen incident. “I told you I would keep my promise. Nothing will happen to Seraphina.”

There is no smirk on his face or anything that could be confused for flirtation. He is not touching me. Instead, he’s standing a respectful distance away, holding my eyes.

It hits me then.

He is telling me the truth and the realization hits me so hard, my knees buckle.

If he were a monster, the kind I thought—think—he is, he would have used this photograph.

He would have made me earn it. He would have made me apologize or thank him, or promise something, anything, in exchange for this proof.

He is not doing any of that.

Instead, he handed me a picture of a laughing, safe two year old, because he thought I needed to have it.