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... ross Owen's face. That sword-it was unmistakably Sofia's. Owen had long suspected a connection between them, but now, seeing her blade in Anos's hand, his suspicions solidified into bitter certainty. His fingers tightened around his own weapon, a wicked grin twisting his lips as he watched Anos, his mind spiraling into darker thoughts.

So this was the brat Sofia had grown fond of. Owen seethed, the idea grating against his ego. "If she thinks I'll stand by while some little upstart takes ...

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