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... as he glanced at the silver-streaked pouch in Irsted’s hand. The confusion in his voice echoed the strangeness of the situation—they had done nothing, yet they were being paid.
Irsted let out a dry chuckle, the sound low and amused. Without missing a beat, he pulled exactly thirty silver coins from the pouch, counting them with the precision of someone who’d done this a hundred times before. Then, without ceremony, he tore a strip from the hem of his own cloak—rough fabric fraying at the ...
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