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The phone buzzed. Leo’s breath caught. 1–1. The little animated ball spun. He looked up again. Still no one.

Then, a noise. Footsteps. Not from the platform—from behind him. Leo turned. A man in a worn green jacket stood near the ticket booth. His face was half-shadowed, but Leo recognized the stoop of the shoulders, the graying stubble. mismarcadores.com movil

He scanned the dim terminal. A cleaning woman mopped the far end. A vending machine hummed. On the south platform, a single bench sat empty under a flickering light. No father. No sign. The phone buzzed

“You’re an idiot,” Leo said. But he was crying. please don't hesitate to contact us:

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