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Blood streamed down his face, warm and sticky, sliding between his fingers as he pressed both hands to his skull. A chunk of bone and brain highlighted in the moonlight where his scalp had been torn apart. By all logic, he should already be dead.
Yet his breathing was steady. Calm.
Ash understood his condition better than any medic could. As the world’s greatest assassin, he knew every nerve, every artery, every fragile thread of life within the human body. That knowledge had ...
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