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... untouched, forgotten by time itself—perfect for our needs.

I shouldered open the door, wincing at the loud creak of the hinges. Inside, it was dark and dusty but dry and seemingly secure. I laid Lyla on the small bed in the corner, disturbing a cloud of dust in the process.

"Sorry about the accommodations," I said, attempting a lightness I didn't feel. "I don't know why I have this inclination not to take you back to the pack house. Am I wrong?" I asked over my shoulders.

...

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