Thankfully, his dorm was empty. Seb stretched out on his bed, and lay staring upwards. His birthday had been the week before, making him eighteen now; he hadn’t even realized it until the next day. All he could think of was the half-angel girl – she was so close now he could almost feel her, yet in a way she seemed further away than ever. To know that she was probably right here, in this very city – only a few miles away from him at most – but to have no idea where exactly, was agony.

The framed photo was a small, solid rectangle in his jeans pocket. He didn’t need to take it out to bring back the girl’s image; he knew it by heart now. Her spirit was with him already, just as it had been for so many years – and since touching her shirt with its whispers of her energy, this sense felt even stronger: a line drawing brought richly to life with colour. Seb shoved his hair back as he regarded the dingy plaster ceiling. God, he was in love with a girl he’d never even spoken to. But he knew her, inside and out.

Could she sense him as strongly? Had she always been in love with a shadow too?

Outside, music had started up. With a restless sigh, Seb swung his feet off the bed and went to the ancient French windows; he swung them open with a creak and stepped out onto the small wrought-iron balcony. On the street below, couples were beginning to dance; paper lanterns cast a festive light. Seb stood against the railing, looking down.

During the day he was single-minded. Mostly he searched Bosque de Chapultepec, but he went to other parks too – always scanning non-stop, not letting himself believe for a second that he wouldn’t find her. It was these other, quieter times when doubt swamped him, leaving him cold. What if he’d gotten the girl’s dream wrong? What if the park they’d seemed to be in wasn’t in el DF at all, but somewhere else? She was American; it could be someplace in her own country – which spread across thousands of miles, and contained probably millions of parks. He’d most likely never find her at all, if that was the case. And to know that she really existed, that she wasn’t a dream, but to never be able to locate her... Seb swallowed. No. He wouldn’t believe that. He couldn’t.

The door opened behind him. “Oh, hey Seb,” said a voice.

Mike, one of the Americans staying in the dorm – and one of the few people at the hostel undamaged by the angels. “Hi,” said Seb from the balcony. Mike joined him; he was nineteen, with floppy brown hair and a friendly smile.