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It started as a hum in my bones as we lay together, resting. At first, I thought it was just the wind again. Bay winds were strange that way, always singing through the cliffs like they knew something we did not. But this was not wind. It was deeper and lower, a slow, insistent thrum that pulsed once through the soles of my feet and stayed there, echoing in my ribs like a second heartbeat. I straightened from the ledge outside our home, half a flatbread still in my hand. Rita looked ...

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