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... cruciating bore of my entire life. The room felt too small, too warm, and far too crowded with men who thought debating map routes was a thrilling pastime.
Victor, Atticus, and Brutus had gathered around the table like three monks worshipping the sacred art of cartography, heads bent close, muttering in a language made entirely of numbers, arrows, and the occasional grunt of agreement.
I sat cross-legged on top of the table, chin in my palm, watching them with the same fascinatio ...
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