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... up her neck and bloomed across her cheeks, painting her face in a shade of red she couldn't hide.
Her lips parted, but no sharp comeback, no biting retort slipped out. Instead, she stammered—a rare, faltering sound from someone who always had the upper hand.
"W-What are you talking about, Kafka?" she managed, her voice cracking slightly as she tried to regain her footing. "What...What babies?"
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Kafka, sensing her unra ...
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