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... e to ignore. It felt strange to hear it coming from Riley’s throat, but the intent behind it was mine: owned and dangerous.

My mother no, the woman who’d claimed me as her daughter stared, wet-eyed and frantic, the scent of worry clinging to her like perfume. Grant Ashbourne looked at me as if I’d grown a second head: puzzled, affronted, the kind of cold appraisal that had once made Riley shrink smaller than a pup.

I couldn’t parse every memory that belonged to Riley, but I knew ...

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