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A blanket descended over his legs.
Victor almost flinched.
It was the thick wool one from the linen closet, the one Rosa had always insisted on when the weather turned cold. Maya tucked it around his sides, then over his shoulders, careful as if she were wrapping something fragile she couldn’t afford to break.
Her hand hovered near the table.
The gold shifted.
Not away.
She gathered the jewelry and the wallet.
Victor’s jaw tightened.
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