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“Listen up,” I bellow, using the magic in my veins to amplify my voice. And they listen. They listen because I rarely speak. “This girl here,” I jab my finger at her, “she’s ours.” I don’t look at her face. I don’t need to. I can imagine she’s scowling. Maybe even about to argue with me. I don’t give her the chance. “She’s our thrall and under our protection.”

