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... that always looked a little like a crooked finger. Curfew had rung; the dorm’s long hall had quieted to distant pipes and the soft cough of a tired staircase. Fizz still hadn’t come back.

He counted breaths because counting kept the line in his chest straight. Four in. Four out. Four in. Four out. Then he stopped counting and started worrying. If Fizz stayed out past the last bell and a patrolling proctor saw him, would that be another lecture from Warden Lutch tomorrow. Another punishme ...

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