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Chapter 78

He can smell her over the acrid scent of cigarette smoke. Over the copper bite of blood and the bitter tang of sweat. Over the many and varied perfumes and colognes which have been assaulting his senses for the past two hours. Her scent cuts through it all. Clean and fresh, almost sweet, with a hint of ozone for good measure. Reminds him of what used to be. Of possibilities. Makes him angry, then has him drowning in a sea of down-feather memories.

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