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Chapter 97: Routine (1)
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... man accepting exile.
And still, somewhere between the third cup of ginger tea and the sixth day of Gregoris refusing to leave until Rafael’s color returned, Rafael realized something that made his ribs feel too tight.
He was starting to look for him in rooms.
Not in the dramatic way of poems or propaganda. Not with desperate longing, not with foolish romantic hunger. But with the quiet, bodily instinct of someone who had begun to associate a presence with safety. With the ...
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