THE SCARS OF THE PAST

META'S POV:

The taste of blood in my mouth. Coppery. Thick. My jaw was a dull, thrumming ache.

"I said I didn't steal her money," I tried to explain. The words were useless gravel in my throat. "Someone put it in my bag."

It didn't matter. They weren't listening. Not one person in that stuffy...

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