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... ked gears, cold and relentless. Maybe her brain was broken, maybe it was just how she’d always been—unable to feel things properly, only able to dissect them. Her dreams weren’t really dreams at all. They were like a desktop screen replaying scenes in neat little windows: what happened, what variables she’d missed, how to fix it next time. No warmth, no softness—just optimization.
Tonight, one question kept looping in that mechanical mind: she couldn’t handle this. Not like this. The pro ...
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