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UNCLE BART “I want the Wood, stacked by noon. Not a minute after. Or you’ll learn what a real day’s regret feels like.” Uncle Bart walks out the door. Freddy stands in the soaking room, his fists clenched at his sides. The muscles in his forearms cord. He lets out a slow, controlled breath—a man containing a storm.

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UNCLE BART “I want the Wood, stacked by noon. Not a minute after. Or you’ll learn what a real day’s regret feels like...

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