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For three days, Elias didn’t see Claire.
At first he told himself it was coincidence. The gallery might be closed for supplies. The Comet — her battered, stubborn car — might finally have surrendered to a mechanic’s mercy. He even convinced himself she was painting in solitude, lost in a fever of colors and canvases.
But by the fourth day, silence turned to unease.
He went to the gallery after class. The lights were off. A note was taped crookedly to the door: Closed until further notice.
