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... enough to kiss the windows, loud enough to echo the weight of everything Atlas didn’t say.

Inside, warmth lingered like a dying ember. A single oil lantern cast flickering gold against the interior wood, illuminating Sansa’s sleeping form with ghostlike gentleness. Her breaths were steady, though faint, rising and falling beneath a heavy woolen blanket. Her blonde hair, now unkempt, framed her face like overgrown vines reclaiming a forgotten ruin.

Atlas sat beside her, motionles ...

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