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Chapter 2: The Broken Voice
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... > Not coins, not corpses, not even the cold.
Soren had learned to walk like a thief in his own shadow, eyes down, steps light.
A half-brick rolled out from under his heel, caught in the crust of last night’s freeze. Soren’s arms pinwheeled, but his boots kept him upright.
He spared a glance down the alley. The maker’s children hadn’t been by yet; the barrel was still ringed with hunks of char and the brittle, gray-offal cakes that passed for a poor man’s coin.
He ...
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