The Comet: Chapter Eight: The Kiss That Doesn’t Happen

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Autumn thickened in the city. Leaves burned down into brittle fragments, the air sharpened with cold, and the nights stretched longer, hungrier. Elias found himself drawn more often to Claire, as if the comet had carved a path through the stars that led straight to her door.

That evening, she called him. It startled him — she had never used his number before, though he had scribbled it on a scrap of paper for her weeks ago, half expecting it to vanish into paint-stained oblivion.

“You busy?” she asked.