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... t 7:43.
Seventeen minutes before Harlow’s breakfast ultimatum.
I lay there for exactly three seconds, staring at the ceiling, before my brain fully processed the situation. Seven forty-three. Pancakes at eight. Harlow Valentine, who treated soft deadlines like personal attacks.
I moved.
Shower in four minutes. Dressed in six. The navy shirt from yesterday because it was either that or repeat the morning scramble through The Archive, and I valued my sanity more tha ...
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