Below the line, Hexcmp2 had printed a sequence of hex digits that looked almost like a map. Mara's hands trembled as she read them. She took the receipt and walked the yard, holding it up like a talisman. The hex map led her through rows of stacked crates to a narrow locker painted the same flaking black as Hexcmp2. Inside was a shoebox lined with newspaper from a winter she remembered as a child: photos, letters, a small brass hinge engraved with the same word, NORA.
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