Clara fidgets with the hem of her dress. She wants to say more to Nolan but his silence unnerves her.

Nolan might still be a little bit afraid of her. After all, Clara is different. Clara shows up unannounced in bedrooms and swimming pools. How could he possibly have the skills necessary to relate to her? She wants so very much to be relatable.

Clara turns to Nolan, peering directly into his beautiful eyes. They're slightly more open than before.

"Can I show you something? It's nothing scary, I promise."

The corners of his mouth turn up slightly in what might almost pass as a grin.

Which is how Clara's secret rooftop hideout becomes Nolan's as well.

#

"You'll have to steal the night manager's keys." Clara raises an eyebrow mischievously.

"No problem." Arby, the night manager, is a total stoner. Taking his keys won't even be a challenge. Nolan wonders at his quick readiness to commit a minor offense for this mysterious girl, though. He hasn't been willing to go along with such misconduct since—well, since Marcus. This thought makes Nolan sad, but only for a second. Marcus would like this girl. He'd like what Nolan was about to do. He'd approve. And that's all the reassurance Nolan needs.

Clara and Nolan tiptoe into the lobby. Arby sits with his back to them, his mind occupied by whatever is on his phone. If Nolan was able to see Arby's eyes, he's sure they'd be bloodshot and jovial. Arby is probably the least offensive person working at the hotel. His self-medicated state keeps him less jaded than everyone else, but also less productive. Luckily for him, the night manager is expected to do jack shit.

Nolan studies Clara to see what she has planned.

"I'll go first." Without hesitation, she walks right up to Arby and swipes the keys lying on the counter. Only, she misses them, somehow, because they're still lying there, not two feet from Arby. She returns triumphantly, however, and holds them up for Nolan to inspect. She jangles them and Nolan cringes, placing a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture.

"The breathing can't hear objects once I remove them from their plane." But Nolan can hear them. And Nolan can see Clara's set of keys in addition to the set that are still sitting on the counter. How is that possible?

"Now it's your turn." She nods in Arby's direction. Arby takes this moment to laugh hysterically at his phone. Clara is right. Now it's Nolan's turn.

Nolan pulls his hoody up as far over his head as it will go. He thinks of this as his invisibility cloak. As long as his head is covered and his face is shaded, the night manager won't notice him.

He wills himself to be unseen as he drifts over to the reception area. Arby laughs again and glides his fingers over his phone's surface, no doubt responding to whoever made him so happy. A sharp pain hits Nolan deep in his gut. Marcus used to text him all the time—mindless, pointless, funny texts. Nolan used to laugh just like Arby.

In the next swoop of frustration, remorse, and longing, Nolan scoops up the keys. He doesn't even care if Arby hears the clink of metal against metal as they're lifted from their resting spot. He doesn't care if Arby catches him, confronts him, calls the day manager on him. If he gets fired, so what?

Nolan doesn't laugh anymore. He isn't carefree; he doesn't text people just because. He doesn't have anything in his life except the distant hope of finding his mother and the claims of a see-through girl that there is more here than what he thinks there is.

Nolan walks back to Clara with keys in hand. Arby remains in his happy oblivious bubble.

Clara smiles at Nolan, and he smiles back.