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... anded attention, but the deep, throbbing ache that lingered in his bones like cold iron. When Caliste opened his eyes on the third morning, he didn’t move right away. He just breathed. Each inhale reminded him he was still alive. Each exhale was a quiet promise to keep going.

The embers of last night’s fire still glowed faintly in the pit. Beside them sat Daimon—silent, unusually so. There was no gleeful insult, no boot to the ribs, no declaration of a new training deathtrap. He just sat ...

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