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She found the truth by accident. At six in the morning, while filling the kettle, a page fell from a stack of envelopes that Aarav had left on the table. The page had an address—not far, a flat near the railway station—and a signature she did not recognize. Her hands did not shake when she picked up the key. Instead they moved with a mechanical steadiness; she could feel the coal inside her shift into flame.
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