PREVIEW
... onhardt stood at the edge of the hallway, shoulders square, boots rooted in the warped floorboards of The Last Call. His coat still fluttered slightly from the motion, the heavy scent of sweat and smoke clinging to the folds.
His hand flexed once—just once—as if recalling the weight of the sword he hadn't finished swinging.
His face was blank.
Inside?
His blood screamed.
It wasn't the kind of rage that came with heat. This was colder. Denser. Like lead pou ...
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