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... linch at Beckett’s words. She knelt by the glowing firelight that cracked across the stone wall of the Callahan war tent, her hands still red, the shift residue thick beneath her fingernails. Beckett lay stretched on the cot, his side wrapped in gauze soaked pink. His golden eyes were wild, flickering between anger and disbelief.

"Then next time, bleed quieter," she replied, her tone ice-covered steel.

He laughed bitterly and winced. "That mouth of yours is going to get us both k ...

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