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... tirred around them. The wind thickened. Life responded.

Roots curled beneath the floorboards. The scent of soil filled the air. And from her palms, warmth flowed into Henry—deep, ancient magic drawn not from rage or duty, but from something else.

Something real and magical.

She didn’t stop until his breathing steadied. Until his color returned. Until she felt the faintest flicker of strength reawaken in him.

Only then did she let herself breathe, whispering to him ...

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