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Painful shouts
Brody clutched his face, staggering as blisters began forming on his cheek and ear. Mike grabbed him, trying to steady him, but the damage had been done. The old man had heard them. He stood tall now, his silhouette framed by the flickering lamplight. The pickaxe was still in his hand. He didn’t speak, not at first. Just stared. Brody and Mike didn’t move. It was like time froze.
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