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Summary
Conan was now ten, and Shinichi was tired.
Almost thirty-six months of hiding and plotting and lying, and where was he? Still trapped in a child’s body. Still hiding and plotting and lying.
He was at his worst. But he kept everything hidden. Locked inside of him, where nobody could see.
Well, one person did. But Shinichi didn’t really mind him. After all, it was a complete improbability for a detective and a thief to be friends.
