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datatime: 2022-12-04 07:36:25 Author:VaZkiJob

Gil doesn't even hear us. Shaken by the sight of Taft's house, he lightens pressure on the brakes, letting us roll in neutral, prepared to go back. Just as his foot begins to engage the clutch, though, Paul yanks the door handle and stumbles out onto the curb.

A light in the neighboring house comes on, but Paul pays no attention. He paces up to Taft's front porch and puts his ear to the door, gently rapping.

"It's the only other place he could've hidden it."

"Jesus, Paul," I say. "How do even you know the blueprint is here?"

"He's still at the police station," Paul says, almost to himself. "The lights are off."

"That's why the police took Vincent in," he says. "I told them I saw Vincent near Dickinson when Bill was shot."

The wind whips through the columns of the fa?ade, licking puffs of snow from the eaves. The window next door goes black. When Paul gets no answer, he tries to turn the knob, but the lock holds fast.

"Is this it?" Gil says.

Gil doesn't even hear us. Shaken by the sight of Taft's house, he lightens pressure on the brakes, letting us roll in neutral, prepared to go back. Just as his foot begins to engage the clutch, though, Paul yanks the door handle and stumbles out onto the curb.

"We can't do this," I say as I walk toward them, trying for some authority.

"He knew he had nothing on me. So he started in on your dad."

"We can't do this," I say as I walk toward them, trying for some authority.

"You're the one who ran," I say under my breath.

The wind whips through the columns of the fa?ade, licking puffs of snow from the eaves. The window next door goes black. When Paul gets no answer, he tries to turn the knob, but the lock holds fast.

The wind hisses around the door as he opens it, muffling his words. I can see Paul mouth something to us, pointing at the house. He begins hiking toward it in the snow.

The wind whips through the columns of the fa?ade, licking puffs of snow from the eaves. The window next door goes black. When Paul gets no answer, he tries to turn the knob, but the lock holds fast.

"What do we do?" Gil says, beside him.

"We can't do this," I say as I walk toward them, trying for some authority.

But Paul is already inside, scanning the first floor. Without a word, he's deep into the house.

The houses before us are fashioned in white clapboard. At Taft's address, all windows are unlit. Just beyond them stands the tree line of the Institute woods, its canopy tinseled in white.

"Damn it." Gil brings the Saab to a halt and gets out. "Paul"

"You're the one who ran," I say under my breath.

I can hear it in his voice, the accusation sneaking in. Everything returns to the moment I pushed Taft.

Gil doesn't even hear us. Shaken by the sight of Taft's house, he lightens pressure on the brakes, letting us roll in neutral, prepared to go back. Just as his foot begins to engage the clutch, though, Paul yanks the door handle and stumbles out onto the curb.

But Paul is already inside, scanning the first floor. Without a word, he's deep into the house.

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