Avery Monroe’s mornings usually began with quiet predictability. At 7:15 a.m., she’d slip on her well‐worn sneakers and head out to the local market in the small town of Pinebrook—a place where everyone knew everyone, and familiar faces were as constant as the rising sun. Today, however, the ordinary routine would soon shatter into something unexpected. That early morning, Avery had a simple shopping list: skim milk for her coffee and cereal, fresh chicken for dinner, and a punnet of raspberries for the muffins her husband adored. It was an odd combination, she mused, but every item had its purpose....
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