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... undergrowth, the sharp edges of leaves brushing against his arms. The forest here felt wrong, like it wasn’t just alive but watching him.
The ground was a mess of junk—broken metal, charred planks, and glass that crunched softly under his boots. Some of the pieces looked oddly complex, like they were part of something important once. Now discarded, forgotten and rotting in the damp air.
The smell of rust and mildew hung, making him wrinkle his nose at the pungent smell.
" ...
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