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The glass doors slid open with a whisper, ushering in the trio with a rush of cold night air.

Cruxius walked in the middle—composed, pale, but the same composed presence. His steps were steady, posture unyielding, even as two women flanked him like contrasts to his composure.

Darithi clung to his left, eyes wide, every breath a silent scream. "Master, you need to sit," she begged, half-dragging him toward the reception desk. "You have been bitten by that woman—we do ...

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