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... t of clean linen and faint rose greets us.
I follow him inside, a silent, shivering shadow. My clothes are plastered to my skin, soaked through and ice-cold from the snow.
I can feel the meltwater from my silver hair tracing a cold path down the back of my neck.
I look around. This time, the apartment is spotless—no trace of the late-night disarray from before.
"Deniz," I start, my voice trembling more from the cold than anything else.
He turns, and before ...
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