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The girl shifted into a crouching position, but made no move for the door. So Emmit stood up, grabbing her arm in an iron grip, and pulled her to the entrance way of the coffee shop.

“Come on,” he said, pushing her inside before letting the door close behind them. He then turned and stood like a statue, head down slightly, listening, watching. His hand drifted over the place where his trench coat beneath hung the black knife he named Shark.

((I’ve run out of time tonight, and will introduce the new character soon… hopefully.))