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... aware of.
Cold marble pressed against his palms, the faint grit of dust clinging to his skin, his long hair tangled messily over his shoulders. He had meant to fall, every movement, every stagger, every fake slip had been carefully calculated to sell the scene, but lying here now, watching everything spiral out of control, he felt something dangerously close to genuine disbelief.
No. Not disbelief.
Shock. Pure, unfiltered, bone-deep shock.
Because the person curr ...
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