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... rmalcy. The main streets buzzed with vendors yelling deals for fruit that smelled like nothing, kids running with stolen bags and old ladies fanning themselves like the heat was a personal insult.
And I was stomping through it all like a pissed-off bull, Lina’s robe barely tied across my chest, the crumpled paper in my left hand and a very sincere desire to turn the whole market district into a giant burning hole.
I didn’t knock on the door.
Didn’t even dream of it.
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