PREVIEW

... rleaf smoke.

Ro leaned back on the tavern wall, half expecting the poorly maintained wood to splinter under her weight. Arms crossed over her chest, she watched jittery lowlives swing their eyes across the pub — looking for their next mark, a good lay, or both.

No one saw her — she could have slapped them in the face and they’d still not pierce her concealment. Not here, and not people this weak. Gods, she hated the slagheap. A slum by a worse name, it was an affront to her sense ...

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