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... l was dancing. Harbor was drowning.

But the Kings weren’t corpses yet. Not Jet. Not Dante. Not Malik. Not Brick. Not Skyline.

Jet slammed the ball into his palms on the inbound, his eyes fire and venom.

"We’re not dead. Not to them. Not to anybody."

He exploded upcourt, legs pumping, blur cutting left then right. Ethan shadowed him, but this time Jet didn’t hesitate. The Jet Step snapped—low dribble, violent cross, and before Ethan’s slide could c ...

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