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Chapter 108: Threads Begin To Pull
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Chapter 110: The Weight of What I Carry
PREVIEW
... o the room.
One knee on the concrete.One hand gripping the floor like it needed the friction to stay real.
It looked like me.
Not metaphorically.Not symbolically.
Me.
Same height.Same shoulders.Same face—only wrong in the ways mirrors get wrong when they remember you badly.
Static bled from its eyes like tears made of broken signal.Its mouth twitched between expressions I recognized too well: confusion, rage, disbelief.
The ...
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