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... owing as it creaked open.

Kael stepped in, casual as ever, holding two plates of grilled chicken—golden, juicy, the savory aroma curling through the air like a taunt.

"Made lunch," he said, his voice light but edged with mockery. "Figured you’d need it after torching yours to ash."

Freya’s glare could’ve melted steel, her cheeks still flushed from earlier.

"I’m not hungry," she snapped, voice tight, arms crossing over her chest to hide the hard peaks of her nipple ...

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