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Quinn spun back toward the superintendent. Rosamond’s triumphant smile quivered. It slid from her mouth, her facial muscles going slack. The revolver fell to the floor. Rosamond’s hands flitted to her neck, fluttering like bird wings. Blood leaked from the six-inch nail lodged deep in her throat.
“Noah,” Hannah said as if from a great distance. “Milo isn’t dead. He’s in a coma.” It was difficult to hear her over the roaring in his ears. She might have been an ocean away, or on another planet. Her words infiltrated the growing fog in his mind. Milo…alive. But barely. “He might not make it,” she said, her voice breaking, “but you need to know—he’s not dead.”