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SMOKE AND MIRRORS

The penthouse felt like a cage. Lights flickered from the city below, casting shadows across the marble floors, turning every reflection into a distorted ghost. Justina moved through the space cautiously, her heels silent against the cold surface, every step echoing like a warning.

Carson was at the window, arms crossed, eyes scanning the streets below. The tension in his jaw spoke volumes, every flicker of the neon lights, every shadow moving past the glass seemed to gnaw at him.

“They’re ...

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