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... thers to look at."
***
Alistair’s finger traced down the ledger with the slow deliberation of someone prolonging a small pleasure. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he found my entry.
"Leone. Right." He looked up again. Took in my modest clothes and uncertain posture with renewed attention. The frayed edge of my sleeve. The scuff on my boots. The way my collar sat slightly crooked.
"The third son."
"Y-yes, sir. That’s correct."
"I ...
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