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... dim, gray morning light seeping through the curtains, heavy clouds outside smothering any real sun. Snow drifted lazily past the window—slow, fat flakes that barely moved, like the world was holding its breath.
I stood, walked to the desk, grabbed the cigarette pack with shaking fingers, tapped one out, and lit it. The first drag burned my throat, sharp and familiar. I exhaled slowly, smoke curling toward the ceiling.
What the hell was that?* Silk... Was she the woman with the um ...
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