He chuckled, but it was as awkward as Nova felt, and Nova was suddenly reminded of all the times she’d practically thrown herself at him these past weeks, and how he’d ignored every one of her advances.

She tucked her hands into her pockets. She would wait until they were sitting down. It would be easier to find an excuse to touch him then. It would be easier to be bold when she wasn’t looking him in the eye.

Adrian grabbed the remote and the TV flickered to life. Nova started to pace around the room. It was a lot more casual than the house above. His bed; the blankets tussled and half draped across the floor; a small, worn couch; a painting easel and a desk; the entertainment center; and a bookshelf in the corner overflowing with comics, drawing guides, and an assortment of sketchbooks. A handful of drawings and video game posters were tacked to the walls.

“This whole huge house, and they make you sleep in the basement?”

“It was better than one of the upstairs rooms. That’s where the murders happened.” He glanced at her. “You know about the murders?”

“I read about them. On the plaque.” And I’m pretty sure Ace was here that night.

Adrian nodded. “Besides, this way I get twelve hundred square feet to myself.”

“This,” said Nova, gesturing, “is not twelve hundred square feet.”

Adrian pointed at a door. “Bathroom through there, then a bunch of unfinished basement space. And”—he gestured at a second door on the far wall—“that’s my art studio.”

“You have an art studio?”

“It’s a big house.”

“Can I see it?”

Adrian opened his mouth, but shut it again, hesitant.

“What?” said Nova. “Have you been practicing nude portraits or something?”

He cringed. “Nothing that scandalous.”

“Then what?”

He sighed. “Okay. This might be weird. I hope it’s not weird, but it might be.” He cleared his throat. “Remember that dream you told me about? With the ruins, and the statue at the park?”

Nova blinked. “Yeah…?”

“So, I had this idea, and I got really inspired, and … I thought it might be neat to…”

He trailed off.

Nova waited.

“To … create it?”

She continued to wait, but Adrian had nothing more to offer.

“I’m not following.”

“I know.” He set the tray of untouched cinnamon rolls down on the table. “It’s hard to explain. Come on. Just—if it turns out this is more creepy than artistically flattering, blame it on sleep deprivation, okay?” He hesitated, then sent her a chagrined look. “Not that you know much about that.”

She smiled. “I’m familiar with the concept,” she said, as intrigued by how uncomfortable Adrian had become as by the mystery in the next room.

He cleared his throat and opened the door to his studio. Nova followed him inside.

Her feet stumbled. She caught herself on the door.

“Sweet rot,” she whispered.

A jungle greeted her. Towering trees and lush greenery had been painted on every inch of every wall, the ceiling, the floor. Though the room smelled of toxic paint and clearly received little ventilation, the mural was so detailed and lush that Nova almost imagined she could smell exotic flowers and warm breeze instead.

Adrian stood in the center of the room. His expression was critical as he inspected his work. “I’m not really sure where the impulse came from, but … once I had the idea, it felt like something I had to do. The way you described that dream really inspired me, I guess. I’ve been working on it in my spare time.”

Nova forced herself away from the door. Noticing that the back of the door itself had been painted, too, even down to the doorknob, she shut it to complete the vision. She felt dizzy as she drifted from wall to wall, but she knew it wasn’t from the paint fumes.

Her fingers traced the painting as she went. Mostly there were plants. Exotic purple flowers spreading their giant petals like wind sails. Ancient gnarled tree trunks covered in fungi and moss, with long, looping vines trailing from their branches. Grasses and ferns sprouting from between the trees’ uneven roots, their lacy fronds bowing over little clusters of white star-shaped blossoms and fiery orange buds. A toppled tree trunk formed a lichen-covered bridge over a family of broad-leafed shrubs.

But it wasn’t just a jungle. Adrian had included hints of the ruins too. The city that the jungle had claimed. What might have been a boulder was, upon closer inspection, the corner of a building’s concrete foundation. Those ascending plateaus of plant life were thriving on an ancient staircase. Beyond those trees—the subtle arch of a doorway, leading to nothing. The beams of sunlight that filtered through the thick canopy struck the hooded torso of a long forgotten statue, its back to them, concealing what treasure might have been cradled in its hands. A startling memory of her dream came back to her. It was holding a star.

“Adrian,” she whispered, afraid to break the spell of this place, “this is amazing.”

“Did I get it right? From the dream?”

“You … yes. It’s exactly…” She realized with a start that her eyes were watering. She turned away, pressing a hand to her mouth to collect herself. As her shaking breaths evened, she dared to face him again. “You didn’t do this for me … did you?”

Adrian glanced sideways at the statue. “No…,” he began. “Although, I didn’t not do it for you either. If that makes sense. I mean, I had to do it for me too.” He shrugged. “It just seemed like a really good idea at the time.”

“It was a good idea. This is … magical.”

Adrian started to grin, and Nova braced herself. She had become familiar with that particular look. The one that said he was about to do something that would impress her, whether she liked it or not.

“I guess I figured you deserve to have good dreams once in a while,” he said. “Even if you never sleep.”

Then he pressed his hand against the nearest wall and exhaled.

The mural started to come alive, emerging around his fingers. Fronds unfolded, engulfing his wrist, and the effect spread like the ripple in a pond, outward across the wall. Tree trunks sprouted from the concrete. Grasses curled against their knees. Lazy vines trailed over their heads.

Nova moved closer to him, pressing her side against his. The hard ground under their feet transformed into squishy moss. Flowers bloomed. Mushrooms sprouted. The smell of paint was replaced with the earthiness of dark soil and a heady perfume. Though Nova hadn’t seen any birds or insects in the painting, it was easy to imagine birdsong disrupting the silence. The hum of cicadas, the clicking of beetles.

The tree canopy crowded in overhead, but sunlight was filtering down, spotlighting the statue.

Adrian lowered his hand. Nova stared at where he had touched and could no longer see the wall. Was it buried behind the panel of foliage? Were they still in his basement? The plants were so dense, the air so humid and sweet, it was almost impossible to imagine they were inside at all.

Adrian shuffled his feet and Nova realized he’d been watching her, but she couldn’t strike the disbelief from her face.

“Cool trick?” he ventured.

Nova’s heart thumped loudly.

“All of this,” she said, speaking slowly, “and the best alias you could come up with was Sketch?”

His lips curled upward, and it was clear how much this small comment pleased him. “Better to under-promise and over-deliver.”

“Well, you succeeded.” Her cheeks were warm as she turned in a slow circle. “Where did the room go? Where are we?”

“We haven’t left. If you pull some of these leaves aside, you’ll be able to see the walls, but they’ll be plain white again. I made sure to cover them with paint so they wouldn’t be visible when you were standing in the middle like this.” He gestured around at their mystical patch of jungle. “You can walk around, if you want. Nothing here will hurt you.”

Nova kept her hands close to her body, in part to avoid taking Adrian’s hand. She couldn’t imagine putting him to sleep now, and without that singular purpose, the thought of touching him terrified her.

She paced herself, reveling in every step. Her fingers danced along each flower petal, glided across the blades of willowy grass, twined around a series of low-hung vines. It was uncanny how much it reminded her of the dream, or what she could remember of it. She was sure she hadn’t gone into that much detail when she described it to Adrian, yet he’d captured it down to the smallest element.

She paused as her attention landed on the statue. It was turned away, so she could see only the back of its hooded cloak, its narrow stone shoulders green with moss, patches of stone having chipped off with age.

Nova dared to approach it, feeling the squishy ground give beneath her footsteps. She braced herself as she walked around the statue. Its outstretched hands came into view.

Her breath hitched, even though, somehow, she had expected it.

She could feel Adrian watching her, and she wondered if he knew. If this had been a part of his plan as he’d painted the mural.

“How?” she whispered.

To his credit, Adrian frowned in confusion. “How what?”

“Adrian … how did you make a star?”

CHAPTER THIRTY

“HUH,” SAID ADRIAN, coming to stand beside her. “Would you look at that.”

He sounded as astonished as Nova felt, but that couldn’t be. This was her dream, but it was his painting. His vision. His magic.

His star?

Nova frowned.

It was a star too. At least, she thought it must be. A single bright orb hovering between the figure’s grasping hands. It was no larger than a marble, and no more difficult to stare at than the brightest star in the night sky. Its light subtly illuminated the fantastical world around them.

It was magnificent, and it was exactly like Nova’s dream. As a child, in her delirious subconscious state, she had known it was a star, and she felt it just as strongly now, though everything she knew about astrophysics told her it wasn’t possible.