Page 7 of Hush, Little Baby

Up ahead, I can see glass windows that hopefully look into the little room. It’s a cute idea. Like a nursery at a hospital.

A few more steps, and yes, it’s the room I’m looking for.

I steel myself as I go to look in, bracing myself for the usual disappointment.

Constantine almost walks into me before noticing I’ve stopped.

“What—” He follows my line of sight, then goes quiet.

It looks like the blonde’s friend is still here. And I think I understand why she was trying to keep him hidden.

A boy is curled up on a bean bag, a blanket slipping off one shoulder, revealing the plush toy that’s being snuggled tightly into his chest.

The television on the wall above him flickers softly across his face, playing a children’s movie. The light catches on the tear tracks on his cheeks, not yet fully dried.

Constantine exhales slowly under his breath. “Well, he’s either naive enough to think it’s safe to fall asleep in a place like this, or just that exhausted.”

I don’t respond.

I’m watching—studying every detail.

I don’t have a great view of his body, but he appears to be rather short. At 6’3 myself, the height difference would be sizeable. I could probably even carry him around.

He has dirty-blonde hair that falls around his ears, messy and in need of a hydrating treatment.

“Niko…” Constantine says carefully.

My gaze flicks to him, irritated at his interruption. “What?”

He nods his head toward the sleeping boy. “Just… why don’t we watch him for a while? Don’t get too excited over just a look. I don’t want to have to clean up his remains if he isn’t what you think.”

He’s right.

Thankfully, there are three seats stationed by the windows like a viewing area.

I take the one in the center without thinking, my gaze never leaving the boy as I sit. Constantine lowers himself into the chair to my right with a quiet sigh, stretching his legs out in front of him like we’re settling in for a show.

I lean forward slightly, elbows braced on my thighs, fingers loosely laced together as I watch.

Constantine busies himself with his phone, glancing up periodically to find my attention still locked on the boy.

Minutes pass.

Then more.

The movie continues to flicker across the room, soft colors dancing over his face, casting him in shifting shades of light and shadow.

Eventually, our patience pays off.

His nose wrinkles, lips parting on a soft, sleepy sound as his head burrows further into the bean bag. One hand lifts, rubbing clumsily at his eye, smearing what little remains of the dried tears.

I straighten in my seat.

“There we go,” Constantine murmurs.

The boy blinks slowly, lashes fluttering as he fights his way back to consciousness. There’s no immediate awareness in his expression, just softness.

He lets out a small yawn, then curls in tighter around the plush, nuzzling into it with a soft hum before finally lifting his head.