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The Smuggler crouched beside the corridor of an abandoned floor in the plaza, flicking his lighter open and shut with trembling fingers. The air reeked of gasoline. His heart was pounding like a war drum, his breath shallow.
Over the phone call, he spoke, voice low but urgent. "Everything’s ready. Are you sure you want to do this?"
Samuel didn’t answer him directly but instead turned to the second line. "Uncle Ben, are you in position?"
"Yeah," Ben said, steady as s ...
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