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... . Not the greasy, blood-bitten kind that clings after a fight. This was domestic. Stale. Someone cooking something badly over a fire that wasn’t hot enough. I hated how easy it was to tell the difference now.
Cinders was the first to say it out loud. "That’s a stew fire. Too many damp roots, not enough fat. I can smell the waste from here."
Relay coughed. "That’s a thing you can smell?"
Cinders didn’t answer. She just moved a little faster, tail stiff. The rest of us foll ...
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