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As the sirens wailed, the "Four Musketeers"—as they were known in school—were forced back into a tight, suffocating circle.
Alma looked down at her phone. A message from an unknown number glowed on the screen: “The past doesn’t stay buried in the garden, Alma. It’s sitting at your dinner table.” As the sirens wailed, the "Four Musketeers"—as they
was pacing, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She knew too much about the arguments overheard in the powder room. As the sirens wailed