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... entleman I absolutely was, we both strolled back toward the clearing.

And there he stood—Steve, still frozen mid-swing, his sword inches from where my neck used to be.

Ana blinked. “He’s still like that?”

I crossed my arms and nodded solemnly. “Yes. Such is the path of true dedication.”

She tilted her head. “You said he was practicing something?”

I nodded again, more seriously. “The Art of the Frozen Sword. It’s a long-lost technique. Only those with incre ...

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