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... orest.

Not yet.

Instead, the carts creaked to a stop outside what looked like an old, rotting stone lodge — like someone gutted a hunting cabin and rebuilt it with menace and mildew. Massive iron gates loomed ahead, and the air thickened the closer we got. Magic. I could feel it buzzing under my skin, like static before a storm.

I guess even wolves liked their cages wrapped in curses.

The wolves herding us barked sharp, guttural orders, snapping the reins on the h ...

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