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... asn't normal.

Killing intent wasn't something she'd only read about. She'd felt it before—real, razor-sharp intent from mercenaries, from cutthroats, from the assassins that stalked border towns when coin got tight and disappearances were explained with shrugs.

But this?

This wasn't intent.

This was weight.

The pressure Lucavion had let slip into the ring… it hadn't merely startled her. It had settled in her gut, like a predator's shadow curling along her ...

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