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... iseptic clung to the air, blending with something metallic—blood, maybe. Winter barely noticed. His focus was on the woman in the bed, the only thing grounding him right now.
Winter’s grip on Zara’s hand was tight—almost too tight. The cold that usually clung to his touch had been replaced with a feverish warmth, an undeniable reminder of how close he had come to losing her.
Again.
She was awake now, her breaths slow and steady, but he couldn’t shake the image of her unco ...
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