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... areful not to snap a branch or rustle too many leaves. I kept my distance from the farmhouse, circling it like a wary predator, watching for movement through the grimy windows. From a low branch, I saw her—my mother—carrying a bucket of water inside. I saw the little girl—Kiani—dragging a broom twice her size across the floor.

And I saw him.

John.

Thick-necked. Red-eyed. Always pacing. Always growling under his breath. The kind of man whose silence was louder than his yel ...

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