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Jemil’s fist trembled inches from Selene’s chest, glowing veins pulsing with molten light. The heat radiated off him in waves, warping the air between them, golden sparks crackling from his clawed knuckles.
Selene’s gaze didn’t waver. She stood tall, her body battered, blood streaking down her temple, but her blade remained sheathed at her side. Her hands—burned raw from clinging to him—hung open, palms facing him as if to say: If you must strike me, then strike me. I will not move. ...
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