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... ar uneven patter of a child who had just woken up and was navigating the world on autopilot, not fully conscious but moving anyway, drawn by sound and instinct toward the source of whatever had pulled her out of sleep.
The bedroom door pushed open.
Lina’s face appeared first. Round cheeks flushed with sleep, silver eyes barely open, her hair a bird’s nest of dark tangles that said she’d been tossing. She was clutching the edge of her blanket in one fist and dragging it behind her ...
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