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... ent—almost as if he were looking at mere slabs of meat ready for butchering. If not for the mental name tags he had assigned them, he might have mistaken them for just that... flesh.
"However, it is, indeed, concerning," Atlas finally broke the momentary silence. "What should we do? I don’t think we’ll be able to sleep with such discomfort."
His brow arched as his gaze landed on the blanket-wrapped figure of Slater. "Aren’t you hot?"
"He’s hiding something he doesn’t want ...
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