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Chapter 16
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... Ash still had her hand around my neck.
I doubt it’ll ever subside anytime soon.
The detective, Irene, who was up until this point pacing around the aftermath of my apartment stopped in her tracks, a piercing gaze at my direction.
“Who was she?” she asked.
The only piece of furniture that was spared in Ash’s wake was my favourite armchair. Bloodstained, fabric torn on one end, yet it was still standing tall. When anxiety and worry striked, that armchair would alway ...
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