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... lash of steel or the roar of dragons.
He was wrong.
War sounded like the furious, rhythmic thwack-hiss-thwack of a magical sewing machine being operated with lethal intent.
Reed stood in the doorway of what used to be Grika’s secondary storage closet. Maira had annexed it three hours ago. It was now The Textile Department.
The room smelled of ozone, starch, and tension.
On one side stood Maira. She had discarded her usual maid uniform for ...
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