Devotion After Dark

CHAPTER TEN

Some photographs preserve memories. Others preserve secrets.

For several days, the photograph remained at the back of Solenne’s mind. At first, she had laughed about it. There had to be an explanation.

She had spent nearly an entire afternoon sitting at her grandmother's old wooden table, holding the photograph between her fingers and examining it from every possible angle. The picture was faded and slightly damaged around the edges, the paper yellowed with age, but the people captured inside it were remarkably clear. Among the unfamiliar faces stood the same man Solenne had met outside the old mansion.

The same eyes.

The same sharp features.

The same expression that always seemed to suggest he knew something she didn't.

It was ridiculous. Her first thought had been that someone had somehow edited the photograph. Photoshop, perhaps. Some old picture had been digitally altered and printed onto aged paper to make it look authentic. She had even found the idea amusing enough to smile to herself, imagining some bored person creating an elaborate joke that had somehow ended up inside her grandmother's house.

Except there was one problem.

The photograph had not come from the internet. It had not come from some mysterious stranger trying to frighten her. She had found it among her grandmother's old belongings, tucked inside a box containing family photographs, letters, and documents that had clearly been untouched for years.

That detail had slowly drained the humor from the situation.

Solenne had searched through the box again the following morning, hoping to find something that would make the whole thing ordinary. A date. A name. A note identifying the people in the photograph. Anything that could explain why the man standing beside her ancestor looked exactly as he did nearly a century later.

She found nothing. Only the photograph and the date written faintly on its back.

1936.

The longer she thought about it, the less comfortable the explanation became. Perhaps the resemblance was simply extraordinary. Perhaps she had imagined the similarities because she had already met him and wanted the photograph to mean something. Perhaps the man in the picture was a relative.

A grandfather.

A great-grandfather.

Someone whose face had been passed down through generations. That explanation made more sense than anything else. Yet every time Solenne tried to convince herself of it, another detail returned to trouble her.

His eyes.

She remembered them too clearly. The way he had looked at her when they first met. The strange hesitation in his expression, as though seeing her had brought back a memory he had not expected to encounter.

She had spent three nights trying not to think about it. She failed.

On the fourth evening, she saw him again.

It happened later than usual, when the province had settled into its nighttime quiet. The road beyond her grandmother's house was almost empty, the occasional sound of a motorcycle fading into the distance before the darkness swallowed it. Crickets filled the spaces between the houses, while a faint breeze moved through the trees and carried the scent of damp earth from somewhere beyond the yard.

Solenne had stepped outside because she needed air. She did not expect to find him standing near the old gate.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

He was dressed in dark clothing, his posture relaxed but unmistakably composed. Under the weak outdoor light, his features appeared almost unchanged from the photograph that had occupied her thoughts for days.

Solenne felt a strange mixture of relief and irritation. Relief because she finally had an opportunity to ask him directly. Irritation because a small part of her had hoped he would not appear at all.

He noticed her watching him.

“You're awake late,” he said. His voice was calm, almost conversational, but Solenne caught the faintest shift in his expression when their eyes met. It was gone so quickly that she could not tell whether she had imagined it.

“So are you.”

A subtle curve touched his mouth. “I suppose I am.”

They spoke for a while about ordinary things.

The weather.

Her grandmother.

The quietness of the town.

Nothing important, at least not on the surface. Solenne answered him normally, but her attention kept drifting toward the photograph waiting inside the house. Every few seconds, she found herself studying his face, searching for some sign that might confirm what she had been thinking.

He noticed this and eventually, his gaze settled on her with quiet curiosity. “You've been staring at me.”

“I found something.” Solenne folded her arms.

The amusement in his expression disappeared. It happened so quickly that she almost missed it.

“What did you find?”

She studied him carefully before answering. “A photograph.”

He remained silent.

“My grandmother has this old box of family things,” she continued. “Photographs, letters, documents. I found one from 1936.”

His eyes changed. There was no sudden movement, no obvious display of alarm. Instead, something became guarded behind his gaze, as though a door had quietly closed.

Solenne felt her heartbeat quicken. “And you're in it.”

The silence that followed seemed longer than it actually was.

He looked away. For the first time since she had met him, he appeared genuinely unsettled.

Solenne almost felt vindicated.

“So, it is you.”

“I wouldn't draw conclusions so quickly.”

“I tried not to. Believe me, I spent days convincing myself that it was some kind of coincidence.” She gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “I even thought maybe someone had edited the picture.”

His attention returned to her. “Edited it?”

“Photoshop. Something like that.” She shook her head, embarrassed by how ridiculous the explanation sounded now. “Except it's an actual photograph from my grandmother's things, so unless my grandmother has been secretly making fake historical photographs for decades, that theory isn't exactly working anymore.”

For a moment, something almost like amusement appeared in his eyes. It disappeared before she could be certain.

Solenne reached into her pocket and pulled out the photograph. She held it between them. The old image caught the dim light.

His gaze fell upon it. The change in him was immediate. The faint ease he had shown moments earlier vanished completely. His shoulders stiffened, and his expression became unreadable.

Solenne noticed the reaction and felt her own confidence grow. “You know who these people are.”

He did not answer.

“You know the woman standing beside you.”

Still nothing.

“You were alive in 1936.”

His eyes lifted slowly toward hers.

“That is a very serious accusation.”

“It isn't an accusation if it's true.”

His expression remained controlled, but there was tension in the way he held himself now. Solenne could almost feel the distance he was creating between them despite neither of them moving.

She had expected denial. Perhaps even laughter.

Instead, he looked tired. Not physically exhausted, but burdened by something far older than she could understand.

“There are things about my past,” he said quietly, “that you would be better off leaving alone.”

The words unsettled her more than a denial would have.

Solenne lowered the photograph slightly. “Why?”

“Because knowing them will not make your life easier.”

“That isn't an answer.”

“It is the only one I can give you.”

She studied him, frustration tightening in her chest. For days, she had wondered whether she had imagined the connection between him and the photograph. Now that she was standing in front of the man himself, she had never felt less certain of anything.

“You expect me to just ignore this?”

“I expect you to understand that some questions have consequences.” His voice remained gentle, yet there was something firm beneath it.

Solenne's fingers tightened around the photograph. “You're the one making this strange.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “I know.”

The admission caught her off guard. She had expected another evasive response. Instead, he seemed to accept the accusation without defending himself. That made her even more curious.

Solenne glanced down at the photograph again before meeting his eyes. “You don't look different.”

His expression became distant.

She swallowed. “Not even a little.”

He did not respond. The silence stretched between them until Solenne finally asked the question that had been circling her mind since the moment she found the photograph.

“How old are you?”

Something unreadable passed through his eyes. Rather than answer, he looked toward the dark road beyond the gate.

Then he asked, “How long do you intend to stay here?”

Solenne blinked. “What?”

“With your grandmother.”

She frowned at the sudden change of subject. “I'm not sure. A while, I guess.”

His gaze returned to her. “How long?”

She hesitated, then answered honestly. “Two months.”

Something shifted in his expression. It was subtle enough that another person might have missed it. Solenne didn't. His face had gone still, but not with the same guardedness as before. There was something else now—something she could not identify. Surprise, perhaps. Or concern.

For the briefest moment, he looked almost as though the answer had frightened him. Then the expression disappeared.

“Two months,” he repeated quietly.

Solenne nodded. “Yes.”

He looked at her as though trying to understand what those words meant. She waited for him to explain.

He didn't.

Instead, his gaze drifted toward the old mansion standing beyond the trees, its dark windows barely visible against the night.

When he looked back at her, the distance had returned to his eyes.

“Then you should make the most of them.”

Solenne frowned. “What does that mean?”

But he had already stepped away. She watched him walk into the darkness, his figure gradually disappearing beyond the weak reach of the garden light.

The photograph remained in her hand. She looked down at it once more. The date on the back seemed strangely heavy now.

1936.

For the first time, Solenne stopped wondering whether the photograph was real. She began wondering what kind of man could possibly stand inside a photograph taken almost a century ago and still look exactly the same today.