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... stale ale. Xander stirred awake, a faint sound pricking at his senses. At first, it was distant—an indistinct murmur carried by the wind, the soft creak of floorboards. But then he heard it, footsteps.
His breath hitched.
Not just footsteps—too many of them. A whisper, hushed but urgent. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
They had been found.
Xander shot up, instantly alert. He reached for the knife under his pillow, his instincts sharp from years of trai ...
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