line
melled of lemon polis
d, pushing his glasses up. He was human,
. "Rejection Papers.
n't like this.
re," I interrupted. "
he could argue
I had spent the morning brewing a recovery soup-bone bro
o the Pac
iet. Nurses nodded
ore I could turn the ha
es and rotting
s voice came from i
through t
d up on pillows, looking like a tragic
man too busy for
lake," Ariana wh
. "You know why I became a neurosurgeon? W
hy
you wouldn't live past twenty. I honed my control, my Alpha energy, specifica
slipped from
an
head snapped t
ra
gasping for air, unti
a healer
esk. A stack of papers sat there
Treasury - Auth
erenity Privat
t: $5
by: Alpha B
t was a luxur
Ariana Whitfield. Reason: S
aking money meant for border defenses and the orph
me. I wasn't a wife; I wa
d out m
said when the
tch living on the fringes, soun
still have contacts in the S
l's territory. He's a hardliner
ezzlement form. "I'm a damn good architect
Bla
," I said. The words
purpose belongs to another. Sto
on: -5
nd Integri
lled soup on the floor. Let s
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