“That one’s not done,” Theo mumbled. “I don’t know how to finish it.”

“You’re the shadow boy,” she said suddenly. “From the art show last spring. You had that drawing of the old theater at dusk.”

Clara looked up at him. Really looked . He had kind, dark eyes that were currently wide with terror, and a smudge of charcoal on his chin. She’d never noticed the smudge before.

“Can I see the rest?” she asked.

​