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... My sun-blessed blood had turned to ice within my veins. My fingers had grown numb from the nerve-wracking tension, and I could feel the sweat falling off my forehead and onto Yoloxochitl’s arms.

I was naked in Ingrid’s bed, alone and defenseless with a mad Nightlord holding me against her chest as if she wanted to devour me. I could cut the tension in the air with a sacrificial knife.

How much did she know? How much did she know?

Calm down, Iztac, calm down, I told myself ...

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