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The air in the basement of the old brick building on Mulberry Street smelled of mildew, coffee, and the faint, sweet ghost of last night’s glitter. For forty-seven years, The Haven had been a portal. To the outside world, it was just a dimly lit bar with a cracked sign. But to those who knew the knock—two quick, one slow—it was a lifeboat.

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A woman with a kind face and a five-o’clock shadow sidled up. “New kid?” she asked Frankie. The air in the basement of the old