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Chapter 9: Welcome to the War
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Chapter 11: The King’s Garbage
PREVIEW
... ight filtering through the window was soft and grey, the kind that makes you want to call in sick to life.
I was lying in a bed that probably cost more than my entire old trust fund.
Silk sheets, pillows stuffed with what felt like the happy thoughts of baby angels.
It was the most comfortable I’d been in years, and I hated every second of it.
Comfort is a trap.
It’s the quiet music that plays right before the game lulls you into a false sense of security ...
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