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... ed pavement, arms stiff at his sides, sleeves stiff with blood. His shirt hung unevenly from one shoulder, soaked to the threads. Every step left a smudge. A memory. A breadcrumb trail in red.

No one stopped him.

People glanced and looked away. The kind of look adults give to roadkill or lost dogs — that automatic flinch of guilt mixed with discomfort. He didn't belong on this side of the barrier. He didn't belong out here at all.

The sun had risen too brightly for a day ...

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