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... onhead’s thick fingers against his leg. He was a mountain of a man, the kind whose shadow used to make people cross the street. Now, his shadow was all he had left.

He used to be the king. His name meant something. It meant fear. It meant power.

Then Adam came.

A quiet, skinny kid with dead eyes who didn’t know his place. Who didn’t seem to know fear. Within a year, the city forgot Lionhead’s name. They only whispered Adam’s.

It ate at him. Rotting him from the in ...

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