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... arreling for her chest; the last driving its trident straight for her face like a missile of shimmering death.

They came from different angles, converging with predatory precision, making it near impossible to glide away like she had with the others.

They were adapting.

Their movements were no longer robotic—they were learning.

’Three at once... what can I do?’ Cynthia thought, breath catching in her throat, her eyes wide as the deadly tips of the tridents gleamed ...

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