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... ly.
From time to time, she’d wake up in a daze, observing the colorful neon lights outside the window, which transitioned to solitude and coldness. The city was asleep; it was already past midnight.
She carefully reached for the bedside, and her phone displayed two in the morning.
There was still one unread WeChat message.
Eleanor opened it; it was from Cillian Grant.
At twelve minutes past midnight, "I’m giving you a gift."
A simple six-word messa ...
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