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... me—made me want to smack him upside the head.

But what could I do? This was the past, something already set in stone.

After forcing down my irritation, I opened my eyes again.

Cyrillote was still plastered against the window, utterly fascinated, unable to tear his gaze away from the infant in the room. His pitch-black eyes, usually befitting a demon, shone with an almost childlike curiosity.

I let out a long sigh.

Before I realized it, words slipped out of ...

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