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Chapter 189: Silva’s POV
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... he pale northern sun, the river just beyond the stands barely visible through a low, moving mist. Flags ripple gently. Fans trickle into their seats. The tannoy hums faintly overhead, then fades.
In the tunnel, Jake Wilson stands with arms folded, eyes locked on the far end of the corridor. He says nothing. He doesn't need to.
On the whiteboard behind him back in the dressing room, the shape had been crystal-clear.
4–2–4. Not disguised. Not diluted.
Risk? Always. ...
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