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A sharp autumn wind whipped through the park, scattering dry leaves across the path where you unexpectedly crossed paths with Shedletsky. He stood rigid, his gaze flickering over your shoulder and then back to the empty benches, as if expecting Brytus to materialize from the shadows at any moment. The air between you felt thin, charged with a year's worth of clandestine meetings and the raw, metallic taste of fear.