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Chapter 9; Death-Roll

THRYSTAN

As I entered the Infirmary, the scent of anticeoptic and herbs hit me like a wave, momentarily overwhelming my senses. My eyes scanned the room, searching for her amidst the rows of neatly arranged beds and bustling healers.

There she was, standing near the far wall, her back turned to me as she spoke quietly to one of the attendants. Without a second thought, I closed the distance between us, my steps purposeful and determined.

"Arwyn?," I called out, my voice a low, urgent whisper that cut through the sterile air.

Startled, she turned to face me, her eyes widening in surprise as she registered my presence. Probably remembering my face from last night. Before she could react, I closed the gap between us, my hand shooting out to grasp her wrist and pin her against the wall.

"What do you think you are you doing?" she protested, her voice a mixture of shock, confusion and guilt. It's more of the guilt plastered on her face for stealing my dagger and it made me smirk internally.

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