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PREVIEW
... on’t want to—fog still hugging the streets, the smell of burned wood drifting lazily between chimneys. But that morning, something felt different. It wasn’t the noise of the market opening, or the sound of hammers on rooftops, or even the off-key singing of some drunk late to get home. It was more... ceremonial.
I noticed it the second I saw the gate.
Guards lined up with a care they rarely bothered with. Polished, clean-shaven, their spears aligned like teeth in a threatening ja ...
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