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Summary
“What happens if we fail, Witch?”
“I’m not paying you to fail,” Ophelia said evenly.
Vilkas huffed a sound that could have been a laugh. The heat of his arm brushed past her waist, jingling a coin pouch as he weighed her offering in his hand. His body burned with all the warmth of a hearth fire, crackling through the air between them as he left her hanging on his answer.
“Very well,” he conceded, “let’s kill ourselves a dragon.”