The two-day march back to the border camp was the longest of Talia's life, though she'd have said the same of the retreat from the hounds only days before. Harker didn't wake. He didn't worsen, exactly — Corrin checked his pulse and breathing every hour with grim, practiced patience — but he didn't improve either, trapped in some silver-veined sleep that none of them knew how to break.
They took...
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← The Last Cartomancer
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Chapter 8: What the Fever Says
5 min read · 1,042 words
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