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... reature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions."
***
The laundry room sat in the guts of the Leone estate where nobody ever went after dark. The walls were old stone that sweated moisture year-round, and the whole place smelled like soap and mildew had been at war for decades with no clear winner.
It was perfect.
Lyra’s knees hurt against the cold floor. She didn’t care. Pain meant she was alive. Pain meant she was here, in this momen ...
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Author’s Afterword
