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Three years.
That’s how long Leon had been in Duskmoor.
From the filth-stained gutters of Grayridge to the polished floors of a military estate, the difference was night and a very well-funded day. He had traded soup ladles for daggers, alley shadows for sword drills, and the constant ache of hunger for the constant ache of training.
And now, ten years old, leaner, faster, and far more dangerous, he was doing his usual morning routine—
Losing to his ma ...
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