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"Any cravings? Should I bring you something?"
Killian didn’t even look at me as he spoke.
His eyes stayed fixed ahead, expression blank.
The question came out flat, mechanical—like a poorly programmed voice assistant, all function and no feeling.
No emotion. No care. Just words thrown into the air as if he was ticking off a box.
There was no weight to it, no pause, no flicker of concern. Just cold, detached noise passing through his lips.
"No ...
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