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... ing long, spinning shadows across the rotting square.

And then they moved.

The clowns didn’t charge so much as glide—seven feet tall, hunched like broken marionettes, their footsteps whisper-quiet despite their monstrous size. The one dragging the sack cracked his neck with a sound like snapping branches. The other lifted a gloved hand and beckoned.

How rude.

"Let’s skip the pleasantries," I said. "I’m on a bit of a schedule, and I don’t make a habit of dying befo ...

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