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... ed with purple like bruised velvet to match the slant of her hair. She sat cross-legged on the floor of her apartment, little piles of shiny metal and glass around her like a predator’s trophies. Chains, pins, tiny mirrors with bevels she liked to catch light in. Her hands moved methodically, threading, twisting, bending. She liked the small, precise violence of making something pretty that could cut.

Her device buzzed on the coffee table. She didn’t bother looking; it was Ethan. He didn ...

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