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... ained frail and still, laid on a simple cot in the herbalist’s house. The villagers took turns watching over her day and night—changing bandages, wiping her sweat, helping her sip water when her lips barely parted.

Dylan had stayed almost the entire time.

He only slept in short bursts, sitting on a chair too low for his back, elbows on knees, head tilted toward her. He didn’t know why. He could have gone home. He had things to do. But... no.

He couldn’t.

And that ...

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