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Chapter 91: “Not dead” is my favorite meal
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... ot this time. Real—close, desperate, boots thudding up the corridor, Bitterstack’s voice barking orders with a kind of anger that only means one thing: the worst has started.
I lurch upright. The main hall is a mess—cots, ration crates, a half-eaten loaf, and over a dozen kobolds jammed together in various states of fear and half-dressed panic. Tinker is at the window with a broken relay unit, trying to get a signal. Bitterstack’s at the door, counting heads, shoving a lantern at a tremb ...
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