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... the clock struck seven. No regal embroidery, no hint of royal favor, just a dark suit with clean lines and a crisp white shirt buttoned to the throat. He looked every inch the man who had built his position through intelligence, not blood.
He made his way through the eastern corridor of the Ministry building, pausing near the large arch of stained glass that bathed the hallway in morning hues. There, already waiting with a steaming cup in hand and a folder tucked beneath her arm, stood A ...
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