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... between his gloved fingers as if it might bite.

Rhett paced behind him, jaw clenched, his boots scuffing the marble of the estate’s council chamber. The stained-glass windows above cast fractured beams across the floor, turning Lucien’s greying hair shades of crimson and violet.

"Where?" Rhett demanded, stopping abruptly.

"In the old trial records. The scrolls locked beneath the blood archive. I was a boy. Barely initiated into the order. The Elders kept the history seal ...

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