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Spartan reached the point where Michael’s own footprints scuffed the dew-damp cobbles—wide strides, a trail of crushed grass and splintered boards from when he’d crashed bodily through the gates.
Beyond lay the grand entrance hall, lit by lanterns.
Spartan, he projected, letting his mind sink fully into the undead’s perception, enter.
The armored figure stepped forward without pause, passing through the threshold.
He crossed the wide vestibule.
Eve ...
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