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... self mourned something that hadn’t yet been spoken aloud. A chill wind blew in from the northern hills, brushing over the narrow, misty roads of the marshland and creeping through the worn bricks and stone gates of the estate.

We had been here for three days.

And in those three days, I had seen more silent glances, more half-said words, and more grim-faced retainers than I cared to count.

Felix, unsurprisingly, had said little since our arrival.

He guided us throu ...

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