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... very motion measured to the breath. The crescent blade spun once in her hand before settling.

Lucavion didn't pursue.

He held position at the center of the ring, estoc lowered slightly, its black flame still whispering faintly along the edge like a cat curling against its master's hand.

The morning had grown warmer, but neither of them sweated.

They weren't dancing.

They were speaking.

Lucavion's smirk widened just a touch.

"See?" he said, ...

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