Robert Moore

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“They tell me you were with him, at the end.” I swallow. “I was.” My friend suddenly in my arms again, bloody and broken. Struggling for every breath. And then not. “They say you carried him. All the way back to the Academy.” He finally looks across at me. Gaze drifting to my left side. “He was my friend,” I remind him softly. My voice does crack, this time.
The Strength of the Few (Hierarchy, #2)
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