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the old command I remembered from childhood. The one he used when a storm was coming and he needed everyone inside.
“Come here.”
I came back. I sat.
He looked at me until my breathing steadied.
“Your grandmother said truth,” he whispered. “Not rage.”
“I know.”
“No. Not yet. You’re young. You think rage gets you moving. But rage is a terrible driver. It will continue reading …
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