Finding Clara

Enzo

Clara?

The name she’d pretended was hers when we met for the first time? How ironic. I took out my phone again, signalling for the little boy to come closer. But before he could move, the old woman pulled him to herself.

“She calls your name in her sleep,” the boy continued. “It’s you, right?”

“Go inside, Tobias. How many times have I told you not to interrupt when adults are talking?” the wo