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...

His voice was small, barely above a whisper, but it carried weight. A child’s wish, so simple yet impossible.

I let his words settle between us before responding. “Your sister… she didn’t—?”

“She’s still alive,” he interrupted. “But they took her.”

I frowned. “Who’s ‘they’?”

The boy’s form flickered, and his little hands clenched into trembling fists. “The people in black masks.”

Black masks. That could mean a lot of things in this world. Cults, ba ...

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