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... uncomfortable.

Not because of nightmares.

But because every time he closed his eyes...

He felt phantom traces of cold fingers against his skin.

He saw silver hair damp with steam.

He heard her voice — low, curious, dangerously soft.

Mine.

By dawn, surrendering to wakefulness felt safer than dreaming.

He pushed himself upright and dragged a hand through his hair.

"Get it together," he muttered.

The Dungeon Br ...

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