Swallowing, Seb finally dared to unclench his hand and look down. He stared. Without realizing it, he sank to the worn wooden floor, still holding the photo.

From the time of his earliest memories, he’d been able to see auras – the angry, crackling red of his mother’s boyfriend’s energy as he beat Seb; the soggy blue of his mother’s as she’d put him in the orphanage, crying that it was Seb’s fault for not getting along with the man. His own aura, whenever he’d brought it into view, was the only one he’d ever encountered that was mostly silver, with forest-green lights shifting through it. The difference had bothered Seb deeply – he’d been convinced that his aura’s strangeness had been the reason for the beatings. That had been the start of his lifelong habit of shifting his aura’s colours, of learning how to blend in. He hadn’t known then that it was pointless around humans – that nobody except him could see the bright shapes of energy anyway.

But he didn’t just see auras when he met people face-to-face; he could see them in photos, too. And now... Seb gazed down at the framed photo in his hand, and it was as if the whole world had stopped breathing. It was true. He hadn’t been mistaken. The little girl peering up through the willow branches had an aura like his own: silver, with lavender lights.

Another half-angel.

It was her.

Seb’s heart thundered in his chest. Jesus god, he had to find her. Where was she, though? Who was she? “Them”, the guy had said, so she was travelling with someone. He’d seemed certain that they wouldn’t still be in Chihuahua, but—

Seb closed his eyes and sent his other self soaring, even though he usually kept his angel self hidden in cities – the violent encounter with the angel years ago had taught him that. Right now, he didn’t care. Lifting up through the bandstand’s roof, he stretched his shining wings and glided over the city, scanning its roads, its parks, the highway that stretched through town.

There was nothing, of course. Nothing.

His angel rushed back to him. Seb opened his eyes and stared unseeingly at one of the ornate iron posts. The possibility that he might have finally come so close to finding his half-angel girl, only to have missed her somehow, made him sick with dread.

His gaze fell on the knapsack near his feet. Suddenly he remembered the girl’s shirt – the feeling of familiarity that had swept over him in the marketplace. He pulled it out; the material felt soft against his fingers. With a steadying breath, Seb closed his eyes again.