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... d at the gradually vanishing Eden Hotel before him, the hem of his white coat rustling in the mountain wind. His knuckles were white, and Lelia’s blood—his sister’s blood—still stained his palm.
Virgil’s betrayal felt like a rusty iron nail, deeply embedded in his skull, causing a dull ache with every breath. Compared to that, his sister’s death was nothing. He had already been looking for an opportunity to get rid of her.
"Virgil... Dai Lin..." He muttered these names, his teeth ...
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