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Summary
The secluded corner of the camp was quiet, save for the distant murmur of the river and the occasional rustle of leaves. Verso settled on a fallen log, the wood rough beneath his fingers, and tilted his head back to study the stars. They blurred slightly, the wine softening the edges of the world. He didn’t need to turn to know Maelle was there—her presence was like a shift in the air, a warmth at his back.
“You’re predictable.”