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... ked softly, almost conversationally, as if they were exchanging ideas over wine instead of standing in a prison reeking of fear.
She shook her head violently, jaw clenched, trying to push the image away—his skin, the scar, the shape of his shoulders. The illusion had been too perfect. Too close. Someone had seen him that intimately. Someone had described him in detail.
Damian’s eyes narrowed. "It wasn’t guesswork. You knew the exact placement of his scar. The way he leans when he ...
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