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... picious.
He stretched, rolling his shoulders as he sat up in bed, blinking blearily at the ceiling. No immediate pain. No overwhelming existential dread. No voice in his head whispering ominous threats about "power" or "destiny."
He squinted. "Something’s wrong."
Steve, curled up on his stomach, let out a sleepy chirp and drooled on his shirt.
Darin groaned, shoving the tiny menace off. "Ugh, Steve, that’s disgusting—move…"
From across the room, Vincent hu ...
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