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... t of the underworld, and a single thought screamed through his mind like a drunk uncle at a wedding:
’How the fuck does he know about that damn event?’
That particular episode was supposed to be locked tighter than a chastity belt in a nunnery. The palace workers who knew about it had been silenced so thoroughly you’d think they’d been buried alongside the incident itself. And yet, here was this cocky asshole, spouting plot points like he was the narrator of Artis’s private bloop ...
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