CHAPTER 080ROWAN FLINT’S POINT OF VIEWI walked via Central Park, my footsteps echoing in the quiet, the faintest crunch of dried leaves below my shoes. The air turned into bloodless, sharper than it had been for weeks. The sort of crisp air that made you need to breathe deeply, however, as a substitute, reduced via you, like the sour reminder that wintry weather was on its way.My arms had been filled deep in the wallet of my coat, fingers twitching with a frightened power that refused to head away, regardless of how many times I attempted to ignore it. It has been months since I determined to exchange, when you consider that I left behind the manipulations, the lies, and the backstabbing that had once been my lifestyle. But regardless of how hard I labored to build something real, to make up for everything I had destroyed, I nevertheless felt like I had turned into taking walks through fog.That existence—my old life—hadn't permitted a move of me, no longer without a doubt. And as
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