Dean found Kane’s hand, pressing something into it. Kane recognized the bite of cold metal. “Poesy is strong because of the weapons she wields,” Dean said. “But you’re strong on your own. I’m scared to imagine what you could do with an arsenal like hers. But please, don’t kill her.” Kane looked at what Dean had given him: Poesy’s bracelet of charms, torn from her arm by the Dreadmare’s jaws. The whistle. The teacup. The white key. The opal skull. The starfish. They were all there, waiting for him to light them up. As though recognizing its new commander, the bracelet slithered around Kane’s
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