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... s, no warmth, just ash-dusted food rations, rusted tech, and eyes too tired to hope.
Kiro moved through the crowds with a lowered hood. He didn't need the System's sensors to feel the tension in the air—workers glancing over their shoulders, drones hovering too long, and the low thrum of Copper patrols sweeping the strip for trouble.
Then he saw him.
A **boy—maybe eighteen—**skinny, wild-eyed, a faded scar along his jaw, bolting through the press of bodie ...
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