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A siren wailed in the distance.
Nadine heard it too.
Her eyes sharpened.
“Garrett,” she said.
He moved.
Not toward Violet.
Toward Quincy.
I screamed.
Quincy darted left, fast and practiced, but Garrett caught the strap of his backpack. The zipper ripped. Papers burst across the wet concrete—notebook pages, copied records, child drawings, lists of names.
Nadine continue reading …
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