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... e air was colder underground. Not because of temperature, but because of purpose.
The tunnel was alive with activity—soft footsteps, hushed commands, and the clanging of metal on stone. Soldiers in masks moved through the corridors like shadows, sorting crates, marking symbols on the walls, and working with sealed barrels of explosives.
And at the centre of it all stood Luther—Tobias.
He stood over a wide, worn map pinned to a metal table, its edges curling with damp and ...
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