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The fault-lined street brings her to him, to stand before a frown of arched brick, to inhale the ashtray scent of dust burning off radiators. There is history here, but it is not theirs. Here, she will be an unknowable girl, moving in unknowable ways, behind dirty curtains. She considers going back the way she came, to sit close the way they used to, stretch her arm above his, tracing paper over the original. Rest her head and breathe only when he does, waiting for a pattern to form. Will she tell him about this night? She’ll wait until she is old, when the threat has passed, and her body has been altered by time and circumstance. Something dark and ruinous closes in, as she always knew it would, and there is relief in its arrival.