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John Wang POV
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The silence was almost perfect.
Tang Wei had fallen asleep forty minutes ago, bundled beneath her jacket and half-zipped into her sleeping bag, one hand still resting near her shotgun. The others were out cold—snoring lightly, breathing slow, no movement beyond the occasional twitch of a leg or turn of a head.
I sat cross-legged beside the ammo case, sliding rounds into magazines by feel.
The rhythm was simple. Calming. Click. Sl ...
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