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... s twitching in the damp air of the empty Undertow. The corridor stretched before them like the gullet of some ancient beast—all crumbling stone, flickering torchlight, and the constant drip-drip-drip of water from above. Smelled like piss and mold and fear, which was pretty much the Undertow's signature scent.

Not that Valiant minded. When you're four inches tall, everything smells too strong.

"Ready, little boss?" Thormund's voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating under Valia ...

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