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... red—just slightly—but enough to make the ladle at her waist jingle against her apron. Her breath hitched. She didn’t turn.
Silence stretched, taut as a drawn string.
"I... I..." she tried to speak, but the syllables dissolved on her tongue. Her lips parted again.
"I-I d-don’t..." she whispered, the words barely formed, tumbling out like a child’s first attempt at sound. "I d-don’t kn-know y-you..."
Cruxius’s eyes narrowed. He saw the way her shoulders curled inwar ...
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