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Forty five

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Conrad mutters, stepping around a gigantic puddle.

Her boots stopped being waterproof two streets ago.

Pulling her jacket tighter around her, she curses herself repetitively as she dodges people on the sidewalk.

How's it going?, Carlos links her, amusement heavy in his tone.

I regret ever leaving. It's awful here; I would rather be stuck in the woods with Scarlet trying to make me adopt those children again, Conrad complains, keeping her head down.

She's almost at the building, and that's the only thing keeping her going. She wasn't able to get a taxi; they were all booked when she was leaving the hotel.

It looks horrific on the news. Rina asked to speak to you this morning, and she laughed when she found out you went into the city. Can you see the guards?, Carlos asks, and Conrad glances over her shoulder, making eye contact with the two men in suits.

They're walking side by side and talking into cell phones.

Yeah, I can see them. They're blending well at the mome
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