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The courtyard breathed heat.

Not the suffocating blaze of noon—but the lingering warmth of a sun reluctant to surrender. Evening light spilled amber across pale sand, cooling slowly at the edges where shadow began to gather.

The ground bore only two sets of footprints.

Opposite one another.

Zeramet stood at the far end.

Bare-chested. Bronze skin gleaming beneath molten light. Silver-dark hair spilled loose over his shoulders, stirred faintly by desert ...

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