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...

Sylvanna's knees threatened to fold. Shame surged, hot and metallic. For an instant she smelled the reek of antiseptic, saw herself in a torchlit barn coaxing the broken creature toward unconsciousness.

She sucked air through her teeth, straightened, and forced her voice flat. "It isn't real."

Footsteps crunched behind her. Draven's shadow cut across the log; he never even looked at the apparition, only at Sylvanna's knuckles blanching around her bow. "No," he agreed. "B ...

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