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... urned alive.

She had known it when the village sold its daughters to the nobles.

She had known it when the sick were left to die.

But this was different.

This fear was cold. Silent. Crawling under her skin like worms in a corpse.

The merchant sat across from her, his smile never fading. It was the kind of smile that made her stomach twist—too polite, too knowing.

"You look tense," he said, pouring himself a cup of wine. "Relax. I'm not asking for a ...

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