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She was a ballerina. Then a rifle. Then a name whispered through three governments.
Now there is only a house with good stone and no history of hers. A valley that runs silver to the tree line. A woman she chose freely, with every door left standing open. And the frost that gathers in the hollow every night and is gone by morning.
Amélie Guillard has paid a great deal to be forgotten. She does not intend to be found — not by the world that made her, not by the family that mourned her, and least of all by the one person who never learned the difference between love and possession.
But peace this quiet is a thing other people cannot leave alone. Some come to take. Some come to save. And some kinds of devotion are only another word for mine — whether you asked to be kept or not.
- Language:
- English
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- 83,235
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- 29/29
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- 1
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Bookmarked by tiefighter
16 Oct 2026