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... n old cathedral, clinging to the lungs, soaking into the bones. It wasn't loud, or sudden. It seeped in, quiet and certain, like the moment one realizes they're already bleeding.

Cruxius should've known.

Of course he should've.

He was the monster in this story—the one who saw every angle, who drank doubt like wine, who had never been surprised unless he allowed it.

But Lira...

She had played her role beautifully.

The dining hall flickered with gold ...

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