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... rment. The wind howled beyond the walls like a widow—long and harsh and cold. Her gaze fell on the worm-eaten walls, the broken windows, the ivy that poured through the gaps like withered veins. Her home—no, Lindsay's home—was no longer a home. It had been converted into something time had abandoned, a remembrance lost in the attic of the world.

"Gabriel," she panted, her mouth dry. "This is not right. This is not—this isn't real."

He was at her side, as ever, silent. The boy who ...

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