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... e time I made my way back.
Ashveil behind me looked like a charcoal sketch—dimmed streets, crooked façades, windows lit here and there like tired little eyes peeking out at the world. Most people were asleep. Others pretended. But no one cared about a guy walking alone in the dark, dressed too well to be a thief, but shady enough not to be trusted.
My steps were steady. New boots, full pockets, coat straight—and a mission. A damn mission with all the signs of impending disaster, ...
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