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Chapter 80: North
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... es. Hanna followed the faint ring she’d heard in the Quiet—tin on tin—until it converged on a wall of rolled plats. Han pressed his ear to the plaster and caught the hollow behind it. A clerk with dust on her sleeves and ink on her knuckle—Oles, Records—watched them with the wary professionalism of someone who protects boundaries for a living.
"Behind these?" Han asked.
"Architects call it a service chase," Oles said, already pulling two plats from the rack. A narrow door lived w ...
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