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... he porcelain cup delicate in his fingers. The soft clink of ceramic against wood is the only sound between us. I sit slouched in the plush chair across from him, eyes closed, exhaustion weighing down on me like a house was sitting on my shoulders. The whispers are gone now, the embers of my rage smothered, leaving behind nothing but the dull ache of regret and lack of adrenaline.

For a few minutes, Cain lets the silence linger, his presence a steady, unshakable force in the room. Then, f ...

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