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My eyes finally meet his. It’s like looking into a storm. His eyes are the color of thunderclouds settling over Ilya, of smoke puffing from the chimneys overhead, of the stolen silver coins clenched in my fist. His black, long lashes are in total contrast with his steely gray eyes, now sweeping across my face. Shock raises his dark brows, tightens his sharp jaw, emphasizes his strong cheekbones. We stand there, staring at each other.