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... corners like a dark fog.

The echo of Genevieve’s anger still clung to the walls, the rawness of her words leaving an unseen wound across Alaric’s chest.

He closed his eyes briefly, dragging a hand down his face before sinking into his chair. The leather creaked beneath him, a sound so small yet deafening in the heavy quiet.

His chest felt like stone — heavy, immovable.

What could he do?

What would he do?

The answer was simple: nothing.

Ther ...

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