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The car door slams shut, loud and sharp, echoing through the quiet afternoon.
A fourteen-year-old Zyren storms out of the back seat, his school uniform wrinkled, his tie hanging loose and crooked around his neck. His silver hair catches the sunlight as he moves, a flash of pale gold against the dark luxury of the car.
The servants lined up at the entrance bow deeply.
"Welcome home, Young Master."
Zyren yanks the tie from his neck and throws it. The fabric l ...
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