Nicholas
The secure holding room beneath Sutton Manor felt colder than ice.
On the polished stainless-steel table sat the contents of the package: a tiny yellow toy sports car, smashed in half and smeared with thick, wet red paint. Beside it lay a printed note:
Faith will not save him next time.
My hands shook with a lethal, terrifying rage as I reached for the third item in the box—a small glossy photograph.
My breath locked in my throat. My heart stopped beating.
The photograph showed Noah sleeping in his bed, his arm wrapped around his stuffed dragon. The angle was taken from three feet away, right beside his bedside lamp. I stared at the intricate carved grain of his mahogany headboard and the distinct blue silk wallpaper in the background.
This photo wasn't taken from outside w
