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They’d been watching the renovations for days. The plan was simple: Cut a hole in the fence. Get inside the house. Grab the copper. Take it home. Sell it. Easy money if Lucas could just stick to the plan. But there was something about the way his skull was born without a soft spot and something about the way his brain grew into the skull, pushing up against the stubborn bone, that made him forget all the little things. He would forget the day. He would forget where he was walking and sometimes why he was going in the first place. He sat on the grimy kitchen counter—kicking his feet back and forth, worrying the dust—and repeated the plan over and over under his breath. In the…
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