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... up.

“I can still fight,” he insisted angrily.

“Your chest is cooked,” I told him. “And Vander needs you more.”

“Then you think I’m useless?” He almost spat. His expression was livid with an anger I recognized. Too often I’d drowned myself in the same for much the same reason.

Anger is easier than grief.

By the manic glint in the lad’s eyes, I suspected he was barely feeling the pain of his wound. He needed a clericon, which I’d already told him. He opened ...

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