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    Summary

    I’m going to kill you, he mouths at Bode. He can almost see the ghost of his own reflection in the glass, the yellow in his eyes barely visible for all the blue he’s trapped in. Bode’s are still brown beyond the bacta, dark and familiar. Cal hates that they are, that despite all the death he’s caused, there’s no telltale ring of sickly yellow to indicate how he’s fallen. Not like Cal did.

    Written for Febuwhump 2026.
    prompt: DAY 22: worse than death

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