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... een staring straight at her. Winter. His hand was around hers, firm and warm, grounding her in the present while her mind still staggered under the weight of the dream—vision?—she’d just escaped.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. For a disoriented moment, she couldn’t breathe.
The shade was achingly familiar, like the dream that still clung to her skin like mist. All she could focus on was the familiar shade of his irises, almost identical to the ones in the dream. The chil ...
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