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Chapter 65: Blood and Broken Mirrors
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Chapter 67: Contracts and Consequences
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... > Not the kind that flails, or howls, or throws itself to the ground in some gloriously messy show of grief. No, this was the worst kind of panic. The kind that moves quietly, gliding in like a silk-draped executioner. It breathes down the back of your neck and murmurs ugly things into the soft, frightened parts of your brain. And me? I’d been kissed by panic before. I’d let it take me to bed, let it whisper my name in the dark. But this—this was different.
This was the kind that tasted ...
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