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Chapter 39: What Was Left Behind, V
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... was folded once and left beneath the journal on my desk. A simple slip of paper, the kind used for classroom memos or grocery lists. The ink had bled slightly from the cold air seeping through the windows. The edges were worn, as if someone had carried it for some time before placing it there.
The handwriting was neat. Blocky. Familiar in a way I couldn't place.
"Come to the old station. Where the bell never rings."
The phrasing caught me more than the message. It didn't ...
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