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Ala is the last to arrive in the lobby of the hospice center ten minutes later. Niko, standing by the door, wears a T-shirt he got from the lost and found, one with three wolves and a moon on it, and he’s not looking at Dymitr. Dymitr, closer to the withering fiddle-leaf fig tree next to the front desk, is shrugging on his jacket, and he’s not looking at Niko. Sha, her hair now bound back with black ribbon, is marveling at them both like they’re a fireworks display.
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