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... come from the roof.
Zara’s heart lurched. She sat upright as another thud followed—softer this time. Then a third. Something bouncing, not footsteps.
"A rock," Winter muttered. His hand was already on his rifle.
He crept closer, nodding once to Mike, who flanked the door while Winter approached the nearest boarded window. The others stirred—murmurs, rustling fabric, the slow rise of panic.
"Don’t open it," Mike hissed. "Could be a trap."
"I’m not stupid," ...
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