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... ere learning how to lie. Inigo sat with his back to the Black Dragon’s warm flank, M4 across his knees, and listened to the math of the place: HIMARS pod ticking cool, GAU-8 hydraulics settling with long, oil-thick sighs, the river’s hiss where it licked fresh stone. Beneath it all, the one sound that kept his spine straight—Lyra’s breath, thin and stubborn.

He checked her again because checking was something hands could do while a mind counted unknowns. Pulse: there. Skin: hot from the ...

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