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... ake, Kent stood alone beside the field. Seedlings glowed a soft green under moonlight. He fingered the bone whistle at his throat.

"Tonight," he promised the shadows, "we go again. New streets, new fears, new SP."

The whistle felt cold, but not cruel. Tools, he reminded himself, were only as wicked as the hand that held them. He pocketed it, turned toward the house where Nima's laughter filtered through an open window, and smiled.

The first rays of dawn slipped over the e ...

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