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... de of crimson as I dragged him along.
"Loona, this is highly inappropriate! I have work—" I cut him off with a finger pressed to his lips, feeling the warmth of his breath hitch against my skin. Saints above, he was so easy to rattle, like a fragile teacup in a storm.
Freya led the way, her strides long and purposeful, like she owned every shadow in this gods-forsaken place. We dashed through the dim corridors, my hand clamped around Atticus’s wrist, his protests mumbling out in ...
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