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... d deliberate, the weight of their exchange lingering in the air like the last note of a distant melody. His expression, so often a mask of cold authority, was now shadowed with something uncharacteristic—reflection.
If any other boy had dared to speak such words to him, they would not have lived to finish their sentence. A swift flick of his hand, and their arrogance would have been silenced forever, a lesson etched into the fabric of the sect. But with Arthur Nightingale, he could not. ...
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