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... etween Raen and Caelia.

She stood motionless, bathed in the fractured moonlight that poured through the stained glass. Her knife—a slender, ritualistic thing etched with script that no longer belonged to any living language—gleamed in her hand. But she didn't move. Not yet.

Raen, heart pounding in a rhythm he didn't recognize as fear, took a single step forward.

"Caelia," he said, low. "Why are you here?"

Her lips twitched. A near-smile. Not quite sane.

"Y ...

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