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Chapter 17: Weight of The Second Cut
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Chapter 19: First Posture of the Sovereign
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... ol blanket drawn over his face and pulled so tight to his chin he could taste the old soap caked into the fringed edge.
He listened: the morning was still, muffled by snow and the sleeping bulk of the barracks.
Every hour Chancery’s bell tolled, but the walls here had grown greedy; sound died against the stone, folded in on itself, just another secret waiting to rot.
His chest ached. Not the soreness of drills, though that never really faded, but a heat, right at the poin ...
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