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Chapter 79: Blades of Fabric, Shields of Steel
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Chapter 81: The Ashford Confrontation
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... um of the cabin almost too soft compared to the storm inside his chest.
A private jet—something he had only read about, never touched.
The leather smelled faintly of cedar and polish, smooth under his fingers. Overhead, hidden vents whispered cool air, and the muffled thrum of the turbines seemed to echo in his bones.
Everything felt too clean, too precise, too unlike the dusty arenas and bloodstained rings of his old world.
"When is the party?" he asked, voice lo ...
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