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... ks arguing philosophy with the cobblestones. I kept my cloak pulled over my face, trying to pass as just another miserable nobody—the trick was to walk fast enough to look busy but slow enough not to draw attention. Antoril wasn’t the kind of city that asked questions, as long as you didn’t offer answers.
Lina’s tavern sat wedged in an alley that smelled of stale yeast, crushed garlic, and damp firewood. The lights were low—a sign the main room was closed to the public or, more likely, t ...
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