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... even as they echoed silently in my skull.
The cell felt smaller suddenly—too close, too tight, the damp walls pressing inward.
The lantern sputtered once as if mocking me.
Yuri’s chest rose and fell in shallow intervals.
The sweat cooling on her skin made her look feverish, but her expression—what little of it remained after unconsciousness reclaimed her—still carried that faint trace of defiance.
Even asleep, Saint Joan insisted on glaring at the world. < ...
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