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... ing warm and savory, and a cup of tea that tasted faintly bitter. It settled my stomach, but it didn’t quiet my thoughts.
As I walked, my fingers brushed my wrist again.
The thin black line remained, faint beneath the skin, curling upward toward my arm like a vein that didn’t belong there. I stopped beside the street and stared at it longer than I probably should have.
It didn’t hurt.
It didn’t move.
It didn’t even feel dangerous.
That bothered me ...
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