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Chapter 2: Flour and Ghosts
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... rhythm of the house still soft and half-asleep around me. It’s my pattern, my control, the only thing that keeps the chaos from spilling over before the world notices me.
I hum a little tune, tapping my fingers against the sink. The house is quiet, except for the faint hum of the fridge. Everything is as it should be — predictable, safe. And then my phone buzzes on the counter. I freeze. The name flashes: Louis Alvara.
My chest tightens. I stare at it. Why now? My mind races thr ...
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