DEEP AFFECTION
he explained, his words doing little to assuage my growing sense of foreboding.
"Here, take this," he handed me the object. As I accepted it, a nagging feeling stirred within me—his voice, his handwriting, all seemed too familiar. I racked my brain, attempting to place where I'd encountered them before. Suddenly, a chilling thought crossed my mind: "Could he be the one who murdered my father?" I muttered to myself. Recalling the masked assailant from that dreadful night, I noticed the distinctive marks on his neck.
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