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... g stubbornly to the air, thick and unmoving like the breath of a place long abandoned. Lyan’s first step off the stair – a muffled click of boot leather on polished basalt – sent a slow echo into the curved ceiling and back again. Dust motes drifted through the lamplight in lazy spirals, each one catching a brief glimmer before vanishing into gloom, and his muscles tightened in instinctive readiness. Nothing stirred except the hearth’s weak orange coal and the soft rustle of cloaks.
The ...
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