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... t himself. He reached out, hesitating, his fingers brushing the zipper of Taras’s dungeon suit. It slipped under his sweaty fingertips once, twice, making him huff in frustration before he finally managed to pull it down.

The wound on Taras’s abdomen was still red, stitched all the way through. Three long slashes crossed his skin, scabbed but angry-looking. Le An’s fingers hovered over them, trembling.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice small.

"No." Taras wasn’t even loo ...

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