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The car rattled to a stop outside the gallery, engine sighing like an exhausted animal. Claire killed the ignition and sat back, tapping the steering wheel with paint-stained fingers. Elias had been silent for most of the ride back, watching the city swallow them again.
“Not bad for a miracle on wheels,” she teased.
He smirked faintly. “If by miracle you mean ‘mechanical defiance of death.’”
She laughed, and for a moment the tension eased. Then her eyes flicked toward him, curious. “So tell me, Elias Thorne. Why do you look at the sky like you’re waiting for something that isn’t coming back?”
The question sliced sharper than she knew. Elias adjusted his tie, buying time. “I don’t… wait. I study. I measure. That’s what science is.”
“Measurement’s not the same as meaning.”
He glanced at her, bristling. “Meaning is subjective. Science is objective.”
“And yet,” she said, leaning closer, “you were speechless last night when you saw the comet. That wasn’t math. That was awe.”
Elias clenched his jaw. He wanted to deny it, but the truth sat in his chest, heavy and undeniable.
Claire smiled knowingly. “See? You’ve built walls so high you don’t even realize what you’re keeping out.”
“Walls,” he repeated dryly. “That’s poetic.”
“It’s true,” she said. “You live in equations because they’re safe. They don’t break your heart. They don’t leave.”
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