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Bud, sensing the tension, plopped down in front of the mirror, his tail thumping the floor. He stared at his own reflection, the broken lines turning his eyes into a kaleidoscope.
They stared, the room silent except for the vinyl’s mournful wail. Yasmina traced the words with her fingertip, feeling a chill run down her spine. The diary’s last entry read: yasmina khan brady bud cracked
“.”
“Bud’s coming over,” he announced, referring to the old Labrador who roamed the neighborhood like a retired detective. “He always finds the best spots for a nap.” Bud, sensing the tension, plopped down in front