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... olden bars. They lay across the bed like blades, catching on rumpled sheets, bare skin, the quiet wreckage of last night.

The room still smelled of it—heat, sweat, the faint herbal bite of Elara’s soap, all tangled together. The sheets were twisted and damp in places, cool where they’d been kicked aside. He stretched carefully. His ribs pulled with a dull ache, memory of the bandit leader’s kick still lingering—but the pain was already fading.

Too fast.

Level 17 did that. ...

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