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... he jungle spinning—it was my balance, my blood, my bones all realigning like tectonic plates forced back into place. Every skill I’d ever copied or absorbed screamed back to life. Half a dozen jobs humming through my nerves like they were always there, just waiting.

The scout saw it. He didn’t need a skill to recognize the change.

His stance faltered. His weight adjusted automatically, like his instincts were whispering run.

I didn’t give him the chance.

My fist c ...

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