"The voices you carry—they don't define you," he said, his voice a calm whisper beneath the hush of the room. The scent of sandalwood curled in the air, grounding, warm—like a quiet hand holding yours in the dark Terrence leaned forward slightly, not with clinical distance, but with quiet certainty. "Let’s silence them… not to erase the past—but so you can finally hear your voice. The one that’s been buried… but never broken close your eye and focus on my voice .
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