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... the old moss-covered arch. Lucian’s voice, normally so gentle and comforting, faded behind her.
The wind pulled inward--not away--like breath reversing direction inside lungs made of smoke. She recognized the silence, and it was not peace. Luckily, there was no danger either.
It was just a waiting room.
Merry realized she was holding her breath, because she recognized this kind of quiet. It was the language of aggressively washing dishes when someone slammed the door too ...
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