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... nd the rotting fence of John’s backyard, my heart pounding like war drums in my chest. Aira’s modest house was dimly lit from the inside, shadows moving behind the cracked windows. My eyes didn’t waver from the door, especially after Kiani slipped inside with the softest nod to me, her little face too bruised for a seven-year-old.

She had done what I asked—gone in to try and speak to her mother. And now I waited, both hopeful and terrified, that Aira would follow her daughter back out. T ...

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