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... r. And Ethan wasn’t letting go without a war.

Ethan lay still for a moment, quiet, calculating. His body was still warm, flushed with the residue of whatever Caleb injected into him, but the fog was lifting. His wrists strained against the ties, cheap leather, decorative. Not meant to hold someone like him.

He flexed, twisted, and snapped one loose. Lucy gasped.

"Ethan—wait—"

His hand shot out, gripping her by the wrist before she could step back. Not hard enough ...

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