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At first, he thought maybe they meant some old farming tools. A rusty machete, perhaps. Maybe even an old hunting rifle.
But no.
When they reached the back garden—the overgrown area behind the newly installed fence—he saw Yuna crouching beside a dark, circular opening in the ground. Two other workers were beside her, pulling long rectangular boxes out of what looked like an old stone well.
One of the workers grunted, dragging a crate onto the grass.
Insid ...
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