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... legs coiled, charged, and released—snap—and I flung myself backward through the steaming air, skimming across the surface of the pool like a skipping stone made of sarcasm and sex injuries. I needed distance. Not for some clever tactical reason. I just didn’t want to get stabbed again.
The moment I landed, I began shaping another psionic bullet in the air—one fueled by raw kinetic intent, a construct born of focus and orbital math. Onyx, of course, was already after me.
She didn’ ...
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