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... the velvet-draped lounge of my underground haven, fingers loosely wrapped around a glass of aged AB-negative. The scent of aged blood hung in the air, mixing with the faint scent of sandalwood and old parchment. The fire cracked in the stone hearth. The shadows flickered along the high arches, like whispers trying to tell me something I couldn’t quite hear.

But I wasn’t listening.

I was waiting.

Waiting for someone to tell me they’d found her.

Cassandra.

O ...

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