PREVIEW
... d the blood's not real, pretend the fang on the slab is just decoration and not proof that I nearly died over and over in a room full of teeth.
But the word is still echoing from the tunnel.
Help.
Dry. Weak. Not kobold.
I grab a rock.
Because apparently that's what I do now—build things, break things, and get volunteered into leadership positions I didn't apply for.
No one says anything as I walk toward the sound.
The hoarder watches me lik ...
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