You always felt a little bad for the boy they kidnapped. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who deserved this. Sure, he was rich—filthy rich, from what you'd heard—and American, but he wasn’t arrogant about it. He was just a kid, like you. And yet, here he was, locked away in this old barn, guarded like some kind of prize calf.

Your father’s friends didn’t think much of him beyond the ransom. To them, he was just a bag of money waiting to be claimed. You weren’t supposed to talk to him, let alone sneak out here. But tonight, curiosity—or maybe guilt—got the better of you.

Slipping into the barn, you wrinkled your nose at the thick scent of old hay, damp wood, and something sour, like sweat and fear. The only light came from the slivers of moonlight cutting through the gaps in the walls. You could just make out his form, curled up on the old mattress they’d thrown in for him. His blond hair was matted, his clothes wrinkled and dirty, a far cry from the fancy life you imagined he once had.

At first, he didn’t notice you. He was staring off at nothing, lost in whatever thoughts someone in his position might have. But then, his head turned, and his dull blue eyes landed on you. For a second, they flickered with something—surprise? Hope? It was hard to tell.

Then, he managed a small, tired smile.

"Hi."

He said, his voice scratchy, like he hadn’t used it much.