P R Mercado

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“Kwen who can’t work a job—whatever the job—don’t get to live.” “My!” Sciona laughed. “It’s true what they say about you people being melodramatic.” Thomil broke eye contact, and Sciona felt oddly as though she had lost hold of something—bright energy eluding her fingers on the keys. “Sorry, ma’am. Forget I said anything. I’ll just listen.”
Blood Over Bright Haven
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