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... ow I

The sound of footsteps echoed through the empty hallway. It seemed to pound against the silence, growing louder.

We all knew the drill by now—the daily "meal" delivery, right on time, like clockwork. It wasn't much, just the bare minimum to keep us alive. A stale chunk of bread, a cup of water. Enough to remind us that we were prisoners, not corpses.

The footsteps started down the hallway. Then—just as expected—they stopped. Right outside our cell.

Puriel and ...

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