Pack of ‘Em
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The pack pressed together near the shed’s back door. One bellowed, its roar echoing through the night, rattling the panes. It wasn’t aggression—it was command.
The message couldn’t be clearer: open the door. Ben and Clinton looked at each other, nerves stretched thin. “They want inside,” Clinton whispered softly. Deep down, Ben already knew what choice they had to make.
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