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... ry heartbeat. There’s no sense pretending otherwise—I’m done running. It’s time to face my enemy head-on.

I could let the tension build a little longer, let the air grow thicker, but my own fingers are already itching for a fight. The stronger she grows, feeding on that boundless rage, the sweeter the battle will taste. I want to feel my blood boil again, want to feel my skin catch fire with longing. It’s a hunger I haven’t fed in so long. And now, there’s nothing left to wait for.

< ...

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