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... s no longer pinned by ropes, but by regret.

I was Number Twelve. I was the girl who escaped alone because she was told to. Because he needed me to. Because he believed in me when I had nothing.

And I had forgotten.

I pressed my fingers against my temples. Images flickered:

My father’s house at night—lights off, curtains drawn. I ran to the bus stop, the breath of winter scouring my lungs. A stranger gave me change for coffee. I stared at the coins, stunned—they we ...

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