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... the tent Dylan had taken over. He wasn't dumb—not like the others. He knew a trap was waiting inside. He could feel it in his gut.

So he stopped, right before the entrance, muscles taut like a bowstring about to snap. His bloodshot eyes locked onto the flap. No more fear. Just hate. Raw, unfiltered, almost animalistic hatred.

He held his three axes like extensions of his body. Ready to throw them the moment that cursed shadow made a move. He wasn't going to walk into the monster' ...

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