Page 16 of Breaking Through

Another sketch flowed out, showing how Isabella had merged the stormy scenes with the calmer ones. My pencil caught the way light and shadow played across the walls, how the paint created movement even in stillness.

"That's incredible." Holden's surprised appreciation made my chest tighten. "Where did you learn to see light like that?"

I didn't answer because you're not supposed to tell a near-stranger how you spent countless nights sketching Chicago's skyline by streetlight when the nightmares wouldn't let you sleep. Or share how art became therapy when words failed.

"Just observation." I closed the notebook.

"Wait." Holden's hand caught mine, warm and sure. "Please. Show me more."

I couldn't resist the request. I turned another page and started sketching the sunrise scene that needed restoration, trying to ignore how his presence at my shoulder made my skin hum.

"It's like you're having a conversation with Gran's work. Like you understand exactly what she was trying to say."

I glanced up and found him watching my hands move across the paper, that sunrise smile playing at the corners of his mouth before he spoke. "I'm good with advertising graphics and such, but this is art. It's a different animal."

"I could show you." The words escaped before I could stop them. "How to restore this section, I mean. I've studied the techniques for park preservation."

He turned sharply, hope lighting his face. "Really? You'd do that?"

A flee response fluttered inside my chest, but his expression made retreat impossible. "The damage isn't severe. With the right approach, we could preserve what's left, maybe..." I swallowed hard. "Maybe honor what she created here."

"Wade." Just my name, but the way he said it made my pulse race. "You helping restore this would mean everything."

"It's only maintenance." I grunted out the words and tried desperately to begin rebuilding my walls. "Park service responsibility."

"No." He shook his head slowly. "It's more than that. You understand what this place means and what she was trying to say with these scenes. That's rare."

Holden turned to take photos, and I watched his careful movements and reverence in approaching each angle. He treated the space like a sanctuary, like he felt the weight of all the stories the walls held.

"She used to say art was how we talk to the future." He adjusted his lens. "That beauty was a conversation across time. I think I'm finally starting to understand what she meant."

The shelter felt different with Holden in it. The air had more oxygen, and the walls reflected light instead of casting shadows. His presence made the space feel less like a bunker and more like what it was meant to be—a refuge.

I heard the soft whir of the Polaroid before I saw it. I continued to sketch while he documented the damage.

"Oh—" A few minutes later, a single print slipped from his stack, diving for the damp floor. I caught it instinctively, years of handling delicate evidence kicking in.

It wasn't the murals.

It was me, caught in profile against Isabella's waves. Light from the vent fell across my face as I explained something, pencil poised over paper. I looked... intent. Alive. Like Ibelonged there with the art instead of hiding in my ranger station.

"Sorry." Holden reached for the photo. "That one wasn't for the blog."

Our fingers met over the Polaroid. Neither of us let go.

"Keep it," he said. "You look... you look like you've found something you lost."

The photo trembled slightly between us. "I don't collect personal photos."

"It may be time to start."

I slipped the photo into my notebook before I could think better of it. We both pretended not to notice.

"The park service has research files." I heard myself speaking, encouraging future cooperation. "Original technique documentation, color samples. They might help with the restoration. If you want to see them."

"Fair warning," I added, "they're filed under 'M' for 'Murals' and 'T' for 'Things.' Tom can't organize properly.'"

"The park's filing system sounds unique."

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