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... one already tracking movement in the city’s central underworld.

She made no verbal command or any kind of gesture.

The system shifted on its own.

The image of Isabella appeared.

Isabella didn’t sneak in.

She was already seated.

A velvet-backed chair, legs crossed, one hand resting casually against a worn poker table deep inside the Vale District’s old syndicate hall.

The place wasn’t built for comfort. The ceiling was low, the walls stained ...

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