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... the sound of voices arguing.
For a blissful moment, I thought I was back in my old apartment. That everything, the binding, the rifts, the apocalypse, had been some kind of stress-induced nightmare.
Then I felt Azryth’s arm still around me, the binding humming contentedly between us, and reality reasserted itself.
We were in an abandoned safehouse, hunted by multiple organizations, racing against Veyrith’s apocalypse timeline, and apparently, we’d weaponized our feelings ...
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