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... explosion, but an absence.
In Liberec, the church bells did not ring at dawn.
The clock tower stood silent, hands paused at five-thirty.
In the gray light, shopkeepers pressed their ears to the radio, searching for familiar music, but finding only static then a German voice, reading the hour with precise, foreign consonants.
Petr Novák sat upright on his bunk at the barracks.
He blinked in the cold, wondering if the dream had followed him into waking colu ...
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