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... rvous murmurs threading through the air, footsteps pacing uneven rhythms across the worn stone floor, whispers of desperate strategies clawing at the edges of silence.

The space was a cavern of tension—walls of chipped gray brick looming high, flickering torches casting jagged shadows that danced like specters.

Beno Mark sat tucked in the corner, legs crossed, a weathered book splayed open in his lap. His fingers traced the faded pages with a lazy rhythm, eyes ha ...

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