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... ike a coiled thread snapping back into place. He exhaled sharply, shaking off the uneasy sensation that clung to him. The dream pattern in the girl's notebook—it wasn't just a coincidence. But now wasn't the time to dwell on it.
He grabbed a towel, quickly wiping his face before tossing it onto the counter. With one last glance at the mirror, he straightened his blazer, shoved his hands into his pockets, and stepped out of the bathroom. The scent of breakfast—eggs, rice, and miso soup—dr ...
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