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damp from the rain-soaked dash into the house.

“Of course, sugar,” she handed him a carton, “Here, can you put the eggs away for me?”

Tad took the cardboard sleeve and turned toward the fridge; with rounded corners and curves, it was clearly a relic from the 1940s. Keira peered inside the cupboards – sure she’d cleaned them, and stuck in new shelf paper, but they still felt dirty, as though caked in decades of grime. She shook her head, as long as the food didn’t actually touch anything, she figured it’d be OK.

She’d have to gut and update the kitchen sooner or later anyway.

A high pitched whine slowly crept into her thoughts. Tad stopped, and looked around expectantly. “What is that?”

“I don’t know,” she tur...

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