PREVIEW
... together a desperate plan. He dropped to the cold, sticky floor of the ice cream shop, clutching the Colt M4A1 carbine, its familiar weight grounding him. His ear pressed against the tiled surface, the faint vibrations of approaching footsteps thrumming through the ground like a predator’s heartbeat. Each step grew louder, closer, more numerous—a pack of wolves closing in on wounded prey. The air was thick with the lingering scent of sugar and melted ice cream, now tainted by the metallic tang ...
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