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NINETY-SEVEN | GHOST

Over the course of my stay in hospital, I’d learned one major thing: I had made a mistake.

Perhaps it would truly have been better to die than to take Salvor’s blood. I would have died a hero, having uncovered the vampire clan’s nest. The likelihood was also that Cyrus would still have his Nanny, too – he wouldn’t have left her unattended in those last, fatal moments to come to my aid.

But what was done was done; it had been marked in time, irreversible and unchangeable. And here I was, packing up my meagre belongings – a wilting flower left for me by Cyrus, with a small, polite note attached it; half a bar of chocolate, left for me by my Paps; and my clothes, which my Paps had also brought with him. The clothes I’d been wearing the night I’d been brought in were blood-soaked, ripped, and ravaged, and I’d had no qualms about asking the hospital staff to put them straight in the bin.

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