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... mp-oil, and the lingering copper tang of the night’s slaughter. Smoke from an overworked brazier curled against the rafters, painting lazy whorls that never quite escaped into the higher dark. Outside, the clang of scavenged armor being hammered straight drifted up the stairwells in ragged intervals, every ring a reminder that dawn was already old and the ruse had to be perfect before sunset.

Wilhelmina’s boots clicked in impatient staccato as she paced from chart-table to arrow-slit, co ...

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