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Everything was quiet.
Quiet in a way that squeezed the breath from her lungs.
Rosa interviewed her in the sitting room. She was 55, silver-haired, tired-eyed, stern in a way that still somehow felt kind.
“You’re Elena Vasquez?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Sit.”
Elena sat with her hands on her thighs, trying to keep them from shaking.
Rosa studied her for a long moment.continue reading …
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