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Summary
An awful sensation blooms in his chest when the archduke touches his shoulder. “Oh, you’re a sight for the sore eyes.” Gortash’s voice is a warm tune to Weir’s ears.
The paladin takes a slow breath. “Am I?” The words come out raspier than he’d like, perhaps a little rough in comparison to the demeanor of the man right in front of him.
Weir wants to remember. Things spiral from there.
