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... aren’t we leaving? Growing increasively restless, Aidan peered out of the window and observed Karyl's back. From what Aidan could tell, he had been sitting in a meditative posture for at least twelve hours.

"What kind of training could it be?"

"I have no idea," Mikhail replied, equally perplexed.

A full day had passed since Karyl had returned to his room from the lord's manor, and he hadn't emerged since. Aidan and Mikhail had gone upstairs to check on him, but the dense ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

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Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

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