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The weather was warm and pleasant. It had reminded him of home. For the first time in a long while, he’d felt comfortable enough to roll up his sleeves.
Tegan rotated his wrist around in her grip, staring at the scar. The scar was maybe ten centimetres long, white and upraised and precise. “Did you do this to yourself?” she said, appalled. “When?”
Adult Trion produce potent venom from stingers in their wrists.
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