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... h the wooden frame, launching Tybalt a good six inches off the driver’s bench. He landed with a high-pitched squeak, his knuckles turning bone-white as he gripped the leather reins like they were the only things tethering him to sanity.
"Slow down, Ty!" I shouted, grabbing the splintered side rail to steady myself as the cart lurched dangerously toward the ditch. "We lost the patrols miles ago. If you break a wheel out here, we’re walking. And I don’t think any of us have the shoes for a ...
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