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papers with my name on them, but nothing important.”
The Hospital Called—A Little Boy Listed Me as His Emergency Contact. I Laughed: “Impossible, I’m 32, Single, and Don’t Have a Son.”
I hung up the call without waiting for a reply, slipped the USB drive and the note deep into the inner pocket of my trench coat, and leaned in close to Noah, speaking in a low, urgent whisper.
“Noah, listen to me. We have to leave. Right now. Before they get here.”
