PREVIEW
... a conference room three floors down. Azryth’s PR team had set everything up: a small stage, microphones, chairs arranged for what looked like at least fifty reporters.
Fifty reporters.
My hands were sweating in the expensive leather gloves someone had insisted I wear, the suit felt like a straightjacket, my heart was trying to escape through my ribcage.
"Breathe," Azryth murmured beside me, we were waiting backstage, hidden from the growing crowd. "You look like you’re a ...
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