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... r to draw their swords or run.

Gareth’s hand slowly moved toward his own blade, eyes locked on the imposter—on himself.

The fake just smiled, casual, like he hadn’t just strolled out of the most secure vault in the region wearing the heir’s skin.

"What sort of trick is this?" Gareth asked, voice low, sharp with restrained fury. "Who are you?"

The fake tilted his head, pretending to think. "Well... depends who you ask. You see ’Gareth.’ She saw someone else. And th ...

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