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The smell that infuses my nose is not pleasant, and not one I can distinguish. I don’t give it much consideration, considering I could be about to die at any moment.
“Where’s the rest?” another voice demands.
“Never trust a whore to do anything,” Racket mutters. “At least we got one.”
“Yeah,” a familiar voice says, “we got the one who can’t scream. Goodie.”
Dylan.
That’s Dylan.
My heart stops.
