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... ting about it—how the wind dares to blow gently, how the trees pretend they weren’t just silent witnesses to cruelty. How people joke and laugh to fill in the emptiness that remains after violence has passed.

We spent the seventh day resting, if you could call it that.

Our makeshift camp was a mess of bodies—some bandaged, others sleeping, some sitting silently with faraway eyes. A few students had cracked. Garrick hadn’t said a word since last night. Just sat by the fire sharpen ...

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