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Chapter 49: When the Mask Slips
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Chapter 51: Pressure Points
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... ne was unusual.
The pale Parisian light filtered through the thin curtains, brushing softly against the ceiling, the edges of furniture, my skin. For a few seconds, I lay still, listening—to the hum of the city waking up, to my own breathing, to the unfamiliar sensation of calm sitting comfortably in my chest.
Not excitement.
Not anticipation.
Just... ease.
My mind drifted back to the night before without effort.
The river.
The quiet walk. ...
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