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... ning sun didn’t feel quite as brave as my midnight whisper. It filtered through the grime-streaked window of The Broken Anchor, illuminating dust motes and the panicked packing of a baker who looked like he was preparing for his own funeral.
"I made muffins," Tybalt said, shoving a canvas bag into my chest the moment I opened my door. "Blueberry. And savory cheese. And I think I accidentally made a brick, but we can throw that at enemies."
"Ty," I said, taking the bag. It was war ...
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