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... childhood trauma.
Kael sat in his designated chair—too straight, too formal, like a guest in someone else’s skin. Which, to be fair, he was.
The polished cutlery glinted back at him, arranged with surgical precision. Beside him, Selene stood rigid and ghost-pale, still not fully recovered from the whole "I’m not who you think I am" revelation.
He could still hear her scream echoing in his skull. His ears were ringing. Or maybe that was just trauma bondi ...
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