PREVIEW

... d of slow that comes from remembering exactly how many times you almost died yesterday.

Outside, the air stung less. But the smell was worse. Burned leather. Mana scorch. That coppery bite that always came after blood dried in the snow.

Lindarion paused at the inn's door before stepping out to tell Lira.

'This isn't over. Not for them. Not for us. But for today—'

He opened the door.

'—we bury the dead.'

And let the living try to breathe.

— ...

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