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A rusty swing set creaked in the wind. A slide, faded and cracked, looked like a monument to a happier, long-dead world.
It was the perfect spot for a high-risk, high-reward intelligence gathering mission.
"Alright, big guy," I said to Grak, who was looking at the swing set with a profound, philosophical confusion. "You’re the distraction. Go... swing. Or something. If anyone shows up, your job is to look big, angry, and too stupid to be a real threat."
"I AM NOT ...
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