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“I’m not going to lose her again. I can’t. She’s not even four years old.”
Every time Ron remembered losing her in the parking lot because she ran away, every time he found one solitary shoe behind his car, he died inside.
“Not this time.” He hadn’t used his gift to manipulate reality since he was a teenager. It was too dangerous. But for her, he would.
“Ha, ha. Fooled you, Grandpa.” She peeked around the corner of his car. Thirty minutes ago, a panel van with the four human traffickers had a fatal collision with a semi on I-84.









