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... y, watching the embers flicker low. Shadows stretched across Winter’s silhouette—still as stone, crouched at the edge of camp with his rifle, eyes fixed on the tree line where the figure had stood.
When the sun finally crested the trees, Winter rose, rifle already in hand. His boots made no sound on the ash-cracked dirt as he moved to the hollow’s edge. The trees were quiet again. Too quiet.
Her body ached from last night’s tension. That figure. The way it watched. She hadn’t nee ...
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