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... soft, low. Not mechanical. Not environmental. Human.

His eyes opened.

And there she was.

Elysia.

Still asleep, though not the way he was used to seeing her. Not with that rigid, soldier's stillness she wore like armor. This was different. Her lips were slightly parted, a ghost of a breath slipping between them, and that hum—quiet, barely a note—rose and fell with her chest. Not a melody. Not intentional. Just instinct, maybe. A noise her body made in rest.

...

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