PREVIEW

... ty.

I closed my eyes.

Inhaled.

Cold morning air scraped down my throat — a little too sharp, a little too real.

For just a second, I let myself pretend it was peaceful.

Then a voice shattered the quiet.

"That's him."

Can I not have five fucking minutes.

Whatever emotion I had left drained from my face as I turned. My eyes — one storm-grey, the other rust-red — settled on a broad-shouldered man, toned like a sculpture. Late twenties, ...

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