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... nd.
The aftermath kind — the heavy, ringing quiet left behind when the world stops trying to kill you.
Valeria exhaled once. Controlled. Precise. The way she’d trained herself to breathe after a kill, after a clash, after a battlefield’s rhythm stuttered into stillness.
Her blade lowered.
She didn’t sheath it yet.
Not until the proctor dismissed the dome.
But her eyes —
her eyes went to the trio beside her.
Ren Aldric, breathing har ...
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