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You haven’t given me any reason to forgive you, Jacobi.

And I don’t know.

I knew, when he shot my kneecaps out. Instead of shooting me in the head. I knew it was you.

And while I was bleeding there, I tried to think. I’ve been trying to figure out what I’m going to do.

I want to go home.

I’m tired. And I’m starting to wonder if there’s a point to staying.

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