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At 5 A.M., Security Called To Say My Sister Had Movers—So I Told Them To Let Her In

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Trent pick up the visitor log book, his pen moving as he wrote their names. Bronson Reeves. Lydia Reeves.

Every stroke of Trent’s handwriting was another strand in the web that would either trap Bronson or expose him completely. This time, it would help me.

On my bed, I shifted slightly, pulling the blanket farther over my legs.

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