Desiree

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We made it. “Okay,” I say, turning. “Everyone in—” “What do we have here?” Everything in me freezes. My blood stops like it’s iced over, plugging up every vein. Jerking around, I see them file out of another shoddy building just three houses up, and my stomach plummets. The fae have found us.
Goldfinch (The Plated Prisoner, #6)
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