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... ong the rib like a fingernail on glass. It wasn’t loud. It was thin and precise, the kind of sound a careful person makes when asking a locked door to speak up. Thalatha stilled before the echo finished, stopping the air in her chest as if breath itself were a noise. Her hand rose with the smallest economy—two fingers, not high, not dramatic. The line captains didn’t need drama. They needed a fact that could travel from knuckle to knuckle. Rims answered with a hush. Elbows settled. Even the lich ...
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