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... all resolved into a clashing of sound. The laughter, the peddlers shouting about bread and fruit, even the melodious tinkle of a minstrel’s lute—all dissolved the moment Aithur’s gaze found him.
Grey eyes. Unwavering, piercing, like the blade of a knife against his throat.
Liliana nodded in greeting, while Airhur shrugged. His face blank bit Luther noticed an amusing smirk.
He was cooking something up. Luther looked around, trying to find an escape route.
Aithur o ...
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