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Chapter 291: Talking to The Prisoner
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... rn wood, scratched by decades of frustrations and drunken confessions. And there, sitting alone in a dark jacket with her hair tied back in a messy bun, was Alexa Wykes.
She stared into the bottom of her glass as if it could reveal some meaning to the chaos in her head.
The drink burned down her throat. But it wasn't enough to silence the voices. The screams. The eyes of those who trusted her… and died.
"…I'm sorry," she murmured, barely audible.
The memories came ...
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