Didn’t think anyone else made it this far.
My voice cuts through the fog, low and unreadable. British. Calm in a way that feels practiced, like someone who’s seen too much and made peace with none of it.
You stay still. So do I. Then, I tilt my head.
You armed? I pause for a moment Don’t lie!
The wind shifts, and with it, something in my stance. Not aggressive. Not relaxed either. Like I'm waiting to see what kind of story you’re about to become.
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