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... illusion thrived on repetition—its rhythm steady, its colors warm, its people always at peace. Around him, Havenfield shimmered with quiet perfection. The courtyard tiles gleamed under morning light. Tree branches swayed in sync with a breeze that never chilled. The scent of baked citrus and pine oils clung faintly to the air.

Mira laughed somewhere near the mess hall, dodging a floating datapad Ari had launched as a joke. Zora and Sloane debated footwork near the sparring deck, while Ju ...

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