After about ten minutes, Baxter finally stopped in the doorway, motionless. Then he looked back at me with the same eyes that had stared at me through the storm door, sweater in his mouth.
My heart was thudding hard.
"Okay," I whispered, stepping inside.
The shed smelled of old, damp wood and dust. Strips of sunlight filtered through the warped boards, casting pale beams across the floor. I could hear my own breathing — shallow and shaky — as I stepped farther inside.
My heart was thudding hard.
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