Santi throws his hands up in mock-apology. “Sorry for trying to start a conversation.”

“I didn’t ask for a conversation.” She hugs herself, looking up at the stars. “I just wanted to come outside and be alone.”

“Of course. I’m sorry I trespassed in your private city.” He bows mockingly and walks away.

Thora cringes. “Wait.”

Santi turns.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “This whole night—I’ve spent it failing to get through to anyone. I thought it was the noise, or everyone else, but I guess it’s just me. And now—”

He’s staring at her, caught between amusement and irritation. “Now what?”

Thora clicks her fingers. “I know. Do you mind lying back down? Just there, where you were. Like I was never here.”

She expects him to walk away. But he shrugs and laughs and lies back down, and she has learned something about him.

“Okay. Wait there.” Thora walks back the way she came. In the dark by the railings she counts to three, considers leaving, thinks God-what-am-I-doing, and sweeps back onto the grass, holding out her hand to a bewildered Santi. He takes it, letting her pull him to his feet.

“Hi,” she says brightly. “I’m Thora Lišková. Nice to meet you for absolutely the first time.”

A beat passes. A grin lights him up. “Santiago López Romero,” he says, shaking her hand vigorously. “Please, call me Santi.”

“Delighted.” Thora lets go of his hand; with nothing to hold on to, hers drifts self-consciously to her hip. “So, um, if you weren’t passed out, what were you doing?”

“Stargazing,” he says, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to admit to.

Thora’s heart leaps. She squints up through the haze of city lights. “Can’t see much from here.”

“No. But maybe from up there.” Santi points to the top of the clock tower.

Thora blinks. “You’re suggesting we climb it?”

Santi shrugs. “Unless you have a jetpack handy.”

Thora looks up at the tower, its brickwork a mess of holes. Something in her rings at the sight, a bell struck the right way at last. She feels it: the itch in her heart that goes away only when she’s somewhere she shouldn’t be, somewhere no one in their right mind would want to go. She wishes she’d suggested climbing the tower herself. Now, it will look like she’s just doing it to impress him. “I’m not climbing a half-ruined tower with you! I don’t even know you.”

He is already crossing the grass. “How well can you ever really know someone?”

“Better than this,” she says, catching up with him.

“Really?” he says. “I think we are all forever a mystery to each other.”