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... in Lolita’s hand.

My name—Olivia Parker—was written in bold, dark letters on the front.

"I have no idea," she replied. "The guards at the gate said a courier brought it. Didn’t say who sent it."

I frowned, turning the envelope over in my hands.

Who would send me something like this? And why now?

But I didn’t waste time guessing. My fingers moved quickly, tearing it open.

Inside was a single piece of paper.

No design. No signature. No return ...

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