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... ving. She was pale, her side blooming fresh blood despite the pressure she’d been applying.

Winter crouched beside her immediately and tore at the hem of his undershirt. "Leo," he said gently, brushing the boy’s hair back from his damp forehead, "you remember that trick you do sometimes? Where you think about something really hard, and then it pops out of your space?"

Leo nodded hesitantly.

"I need you to think about a box. A small one. Plastic. White or gray, with a red ...

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