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Chapter 5: The art of failing gracefully
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Chapter 7: The art of running away
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... t prediction turned out to be painfully accurate.
The dorm room was dark, illuminated only by a sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains. The air was filled with the rhythmic, soft snoring of Tybalt. He was curled up in a ball, hugging his pillow and muttering something about "fluffy clouds" and "more butter."
I sat on the edge of my bed, fully dressed. I had swapped my stiff uniform boots for a pair of canvas sneakers I’d found in the bottom of my wardrobe—standard issue ...
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