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... almost a whisper, yet clear in the richly adorned room. His expression remained calm—unreadable, like a still pond—but there was a flicker of intrigue behind his eyes. As his fingers gently turned the pages of the book, his mind was already deep in analysis, oblivious to Lord Marco's internal deliberations.
The room was quiet, the soft ticking of a golden pendulum clock marking time beside the fireplace. The tea on the table had grown lukewarm, untouched. Light streamed through tall wind ...
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