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... Lucy’s hand resting on his arm, Natalie’s braid pressed gently to his shoulder. The warmth of them soothed him, and the faint sounds of their breaths blended into something grounding. He didn’t dream of watchers that night. He dreamed of apples blooming twice in one season, of voices singing over rivers, of his hands planting trees that bloomed silver instead of green.
Morning came slower. The mist hadn’t receded as fully as usual, and the orchard air remained thick, though not threateni ...
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