The Faded Root
Chapter One "You cannot have it, Hira. The debt is not paid." The smell of ozone and wet salt hit the back of Hira Yousafzai’s throat before the words did, a physical weight pressing against his ribs. He stood in the recycling level, the air thick with the metallic tang of the Rootwater vial clutched in his sweating palm. It was a small glass cylinder, etched with the serial number one hundred...
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