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Summary
They’re always quiet, even with silence cast over the office—all too aware of the City’s balance in the palm of their hands. Sometimes Astele yearns to tip it over, set fire to the pipes and the streets and the markets and the harbors and all the fucking blundering Baldurians they keep failing to protect.
She does not have to wonder if Jaheira knows the feeling. They would not be doing what they’re doing if she didn’t.