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The one time Robby’s too worked up to fumble with the lock behind his back.
And then the door’s open.
Whitaker stood there in the doorway, almost reduced to a silhouette, just enough light to catch a glimpse of his face. All doe-eyed and starry, looking like he’s stumbling over his words, except no sound is coming out of his mouth. Like a deer in headlights, motionless and twitching all at once.
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