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... r hair. Artificial heat swirled in even waves around her.

Knee-deep in wilted anthuriums, she wore nothing but a white tank and shorts. Her dagger rested in one hand, facets fracturing light into prisms that never returned her face.

On reflex she snipped browned edges from her drowsy tropicals. Winter had stolen half their strength, her neglect the rest, and every cut left them barer.

Guilt prickled. Why had she ignored them for so long? She could not remember.

Po ...

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