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... ted his grip on the sidearm, the weapon rising slightly as his other hand flicked on the light attachment.

The beam cut down the tunnel in a sharp cone, catching dust and the occasional glint of red where fluids had congealed on the walls.

Charles didn't bother with a weapon. His stance shifted—alert, focused—but restrained. The tunnel's narrow width meant his wings were out of the question unless he wanted to wedge himself in like a trapped bat.

Still, there wasn't a fli ...

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