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“Don’t let him take me,” she said.
I followed her gaze.
A man stood at the end of the aisle, scanning. Early thirties. Clean clothes, but something off — the way his eyes moved, too sharp, too alert. Not worried.
Hunting.
“Addison!” he called, voice tight. “Get over here. Now.”
The girl flinched like she’d been struck.
“That’s him,” she whispered, pressing closer. “That’s my daddy.”
I felt something shift inside my chest.
Not anger. Not yet.
Something colder.
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