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Summary
“Brynjolf, it’s cold.” She’d burrowed her hands into his pockets, using them as anchors to keep him close.
“If only either of us had a bed,” he chuckled.
“Pick the lock,” she said, eyeing the back entrance of the temple.
His face lit up in realisation, and he laughed. “In there? You’re obscene.”
(Brynjolf makes an unexpected visit to the Temple of Mara.)