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... me!"
"Excuses are unbecoming, Gabriel," the red-haired man snapped the pocket watch closed with finality. "I won’t hear any more of them. And what is this? Even children have more manners than you two."
In an instant, the air around them warped, and the tavern dissolved into nothing. The trio found themselves in The Studio— a personal domain, the gathering place of the Recorders. Judge, the red haired masked man, sat on a throne upon a raised dais, flanked by a long table with s ...
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