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... l. A displacement veil layered in old elven notation, sloppy, but enough to trick eyes at a glance. It didn’t stop him. His presence slid through it without resistance, absorbed by the folds of darkness riding his skin.

He pressed a palm lightly to the wood.

Listened.

Voices.

Low. Not Caldrisian.

He moved through.

The room beyond was no longer part of the estate’s formal structure. This was retrofitted, a long stone gallery beneath the southern tow ...

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