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... ndows. A worn piano rested in the corner, keys untouched. Folding chairs lined the wall, a forgotten script curled on the sill.

Folding chairs lined one wall, and a script — dog-eared and sun-faded — lay forgotten on the windowsill.

The floor creaked faintly beneath their steps.

Billy walked in slowly. Not like he belonged. Like he was afraid to disturb the air.

His hand ran across the edge of the table. The smooth wood. The faint trace of chalk on the mirror.

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