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Chapter 157: The Fool Takes Flight
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Chapter 159: The Problem with Mirrors
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... e a scar under a gray, unforgiving sky. Wind howled low and sharp, tugging at my coat and ringing the bells of my mask like an omen. The moment the plane's wheels kissed ground, I felt it—the shift. The silence. The eyes.
The Republic did not like visitors.
It tolerated intrusions the way a snake tolerates footsteps: with patience and poison.
We disembarked into the cold, unblinking eye of a nation pretending not to watch. I stepped off the plane first, violet boots flash ...
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