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... t. Just reminded him, again, that it was there. Like a narrator under his heel.

The hallway was narrow. Smooth-walled. No ornamentation, no marks. But the smell shifted. Old copper. Dust. Something sharper underneath. Like burned fabric, just distant enough to pretend it was someone else’s fault.

The girl ahead walked with a limp. Not dramatic. Just a fraction off. Left foot landed slightly louder, slightly longer.

’Why do I know that?’

Not just the limp. The cade ...

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