Serenade
-- EXCERPT: She started forward once more, silently cursing, when a soft melody drifted from the woods. The sound jarred her to a stop, and her heart suddenly spiked. She wasn’t alone. Someone was out here. The music drew closer, heightening. It was slow and haunting, tinkling, like a music box. It didn’t sound like music from a radio or phone. It moved through the trees, wrapping around the bushes, spreading out toward her. She could feel it all around her, soaking into her. “Hello?” she asked, backing up a step. She squinted into the trees. “Hello?” No one answered. The music continued, and she wrapped her arms around herself, backing up further. “Hello?” Deep into the forest, a bright light appeared, small at first until it burst outward. The light seared her eyes, large and white, and she ripped her gaze away. A voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to run. The music continued to play on the air, soaring toward her. It was getting closer, becoming thicker, heavier. This couldn’t be happening. She was having hallucinations. She needed to get out of here. She needed to find stability. Ground herself. She pushed herself faster, her feet pounding on the forest floor. But the music slithered after her, brushing along her back, carrying with her as she ran. “Stop!” she yelled. “Stop!” She continued to race, until she dropped to her knees. She covered her hands over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut. “Stop!” In a blink, the music halted, and the light dissipated, but the music still echoed inside her head, hanging on the air. She stretched her eyes wide, her gaze darting side to side. She stayed frozen, her knees on the dusty ground. Her heart beat loud as the breeze picked up and tickled the hair off her face. Birds chirped, and the forest came alive again. She slowly lowered her hands. Everything was normal. Everything was fine. She had been hallucinating. She huffed out a frustrated breath and headed back down the trail, shaking out her arms. She was stupid to think someone had been after her, or to think she’d heard music or seen such a bright light, but the sweet melodic sound wouldn’t leave her alone. The melody lingered inside her head, weaving through her memory. Maybe someone had been there, and maybe she had been its target.
GIVEAWAY! #Book Blitz #Freedom or Death (Juche, 4) by Adria Carmichael #Dystopian #YA @Xpresso Book Tours31/5/2022
Freedom or Death
-- EXCERPT: The guards led us along the dark, empty streets of the Village of the Strayed as an ice-cold drizzle sprayed us from above. They didn’t tell us where they were taking us or why, and we didn’t ask. We already knew the answers. Neither Nari nor I resisted the relentless progression through the night. There was no screaming or kicking or biting or clawing. We just plodded forward compliantly, aware that any attempt to fight our silent captors would only make things worse. Or, at the very least—expedite the imminent torment awaiting us in the musty dungeons deep underground. Nari’s soft sobbing behind me was the only sound I could hear over the beating of my heart and the stamping of heavy guard boots against the muddy surface beneath us. It took some time for the light rain to fully soak my short hair and glue it to my scalp, but once saturated, large drops of water began trickling down my forehead and into my swollen eyes. It didn’t hurt, but the sensation was strange and made me blink. Considering the direness of our situation, I expected my chest to fill to the bursting point with uncontrollable panic at any moment. But it didn’t set in. Not yet at least. I knew it was just a matter of time before that horrible feeling returned to assert its rightful control over me. But at this precise moment, there was only one feeling consuming my existence—confusion. And as we passed the School of Juche, drawing closer to our inevitable destination, that feeling fueled a myriad of questions stampeding through the chaos in my mind. What happened to Jun Ha? Had the dark figure that entered the back of the truck been our father? Why hadn’t Mina, Mrs. Choy, and Hana showed up at the meeting point? And how in the Great General’s name did Sun Hee find out about our escape? However, out of all the questions devoid of answers, one tormented me more than all the rest combined.
GIVEAWAY! Myracles in the Void
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Chapter One – Unforgiving Hop THE RED TIDE is COMING! Water Level Low. SPRYT SightingsHighly Expected. Un-luck + Disaster ToAllWho Encounter. BLOCK EVERYOPENING. — Mayor Tanning What a delightful sign to have hanging in front of one’s home — a mix of “watch out” with “you’re on your own.” But that’s living in Hop for ya, a’kay? As a floating port in the middle of the sea, there weren’t any roads to or from Hop. On their own, indeed. But it wasn’t always so lonely. Fifty years ago, Hop was a bustling pitstop for the hundreds of trade ships sailing across the Domus Gulf every year. A place to “hop” from one side of the gulf to the other. Being a travel hub made it bursting with exotic goods and fresh ideas. But the wild waters of the gulf were hard to predict, and they only seemed to grow more dangerous over time. One shipwreck was enough to send thoughts and prayers, but after ten and twenty ships washed back blown to bits, it started to nip at the profits. Soon traders found alternate land routes that may have taken longer, but at least weren’t so death-y. Practically overnight, Hop and its people were forgotten like a used hanky in a puddle. Trapped on a floating port amid the unfor‐ giving sea, a stagnant idea stuck to them — anything made would just be unmade. What was to stop anything they worked hard to build from falling to pieces like Hop did? Nothin’ lasts butsalt in yer ass became the most graffitied words on the splintering streets, a series of long planks called “Boards.” Was there any point in shining your shoes, doing your hair, brushing your teeth? They would all end up dirty, tasseled, and yellow. Undone, eventually. Was there any point in building relationships, then? Nothing lasts but the salt in their asses, indeed. Just behind that friendly “red tide” warning sign on Boulie Board, a skinny wreck of a home rose from the battered planks. Its number, 76, was drawn large and wide on the front and side in “Hopper White,” a local specialty paint whose main ingredient was seagull poop. Nothing could be wasted in Hop, not even waste. The pieces that made up the home had a kind of widely used look about them, like maybe that wall had once been the barnacled belly of a rowboat, and before that, it was a sign that said HOP: POPULATION 600. Its door was a full fourteen shades of a should-I-touch-that sort of green and was cracked at the bottom up to the knob. Its two sea-weathered windows were small and narrow like suspicious eyes squinting at the neighbors. By Hopper standards, the Izz family actually had quite a fine little nest. The only reason the Izz house somewhat outshined its raggedy neighbors was because of the family’s firstborn, Gaiel Izz. Gai liked to fix things when they broke. Something about broken objects made him queasy, compulsive even; a roar in the belly yapping at him to make it better. As for the things he couldn’t fix, he’d at least insist on putting a sheet of soggy newspaper over it or something. In fact, he patched so many holes in his clothes with newspaper that it became the dominant fabric. It crinkled as he walked. One special night, this industrious fifteen-year-old was lying motionless on the floor in one of the home’s damp upstairs bedrooms. His right ear was practically suctioned to the floorboards as he listened carefully for any signs of movement downstairs. He’d been listening so long his ear had become a bright, throbbing mushroom. This night, he’d embark on his most ambitious fixing project yet — his twelve-year-old sister, Lynd. While Gai may have been on the floor, he wasn’t out of bed. The floor was both of the Izz children’s bed. Many, many things floated by Hop in the strong currents, like sunken ship junk or garbage from far off Electri City on the mainland. But few were “cozy” materials for them to scoop out and use to make bedding. Since nothing came in or out of Hop, if a Hopper wanted something new, they’d best grab a scoop and pray to Zeea that whatever they needed happened to be floating by that day. Gai once scooped an armful of braided anchor rope and wove it into a nice blanket. He looked over at Lynd sleeping on it, snoring like a ship headed out to sea — Twaahhh! Peaceful as she seemed, her little hands kept pulling at the fraying edges of the rope-blanket, almost like tearing it apart soothed her as a babe suckling their thumb would. She was definitely not a fixer like her brother. Truly, she was quite the opposite.
GIVEAWAY! All-Star Love
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: I put all my strength into my next forehand. The ball torpedoed over the net, not even bothering to bounce within the court. Nope, that sucker was headed for the fences. If this was baseball, it’d be time to break out the peanuts and Cracker Jack. Too bad this wasn’t baseball. “Ahh!” A figure in the distance went down, knees to the court. A crowd of students suddenly appeared, gasping and rushing over. “You hit him!” someone shrieked. My breath lodged in my throat. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I jogged over, terrified to breathe until I knew my accidental victim was okay. Caleb directed a dirty scowl at me. “You really are the worst, Maxwell.” I angled to see the fallen student. “I’m so sorry!” “Oh, Maisie.” Nia mumbled, now beside me. “I’m okay,” the guy on the ground said, attempting to stand despite the crowd. His head emerged, sun-bleached brown hair unkempt and curling over a tanned forehead. That perfectly shaggy hair some guys could get away with. He wasn’t a returning student. The face turning toward me could easily belong on a clothing website, the kind with ninety-dollar T-shirts with holes in them for a distressed look. Basically, he was very attractive. A swath of blood streaked across that very attractive face. That part was definitely my fault. Sorry floated across my tongue, but my lips couldn’t form the word under the pressure of so many glaring classmates. Any hope of being an admired senior this year shriveled and burned like a tissue set aflame. He accepted a clean towel and pressed it to his nose. “I expected I might not be welcome here, but your forehand really confirmed it.” “Way to go, Maxwell,” Caleb said with a sneer. “You just nailed Shane Wagner in the face.” Oh. Wait, what? “You’re … you’re—” “Shane Wagner,” the bloody-faced model boy said through the towel. Shane Wagner. The Shane Wagner. I just nailed the face of the number one-seeded player in junior boys’ tennis.
GIVEAWAY! Arcadia: The Complete Collection – 10th Anniversary Edition
-- Pre-order for only 99¢! -- EXCERPT: Taken from Talisman Of El (Arcadia, Book 1), Prologue ‘Luther’s dead.’ Derkein’s heart skipped a beat. ‘What … What happened?’ ‘Natural causes. Apparently, his heart gave out.’ ‘What do you mean “apparently”?’ With a hesitant glance at Derkein, his father opened the front pocket of the bag and pulled out a burnished copper talisman with an engraved steel band and a circular crevice. ‘Luther and I dug this up in the Roncador Mountains in Mato Grosso, Brazil. The earthquake that hit South America two months ago … We caused it when we removed this from the earth.’ He looked down at the talisman and then back at Derkein, distress clouding his features. ‘The moment the earthquake struck, we passed out. Two hours later, we woke up on Manhattan Bridge.’ ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying.’ ‘We didn’t fly to New York.’ ‘Then how did you get here?’ His father started packing the weapons back inside the bag. ‘I don’t know. Three weeks ago, Luther called me and told me that someone was following him. I think whoever was after him wanted the talisman, and when they didn’t find it, they killed him. Now they’re after me.’ ‘So give it to them. Dad, this isn’t worth your life.’ ‘I can’t. This is my only connection to Arcadia.’ ‘Where are you going?’ ‘England,’ his father replied. ‘Thomas might be able to help me. If what he told me about these beings is true, I can’t be around you. They got to Luther. I won’t lose you too.’ He turned around and stared at the portrait covering the safe. ‘I miss Mum too, but it’s been five years. Give up before you end up killing yourself. Arcadia doesn’t exist.’ His father looked at him. ‘It’s out there. I’m going to find it. I will bring her back.’ ‘Mum’s dead,’ Derkein snapped. ‘When are you going to get that?’ ‘I have to go,’ his father said in a calm voice. ‘I’ll call you when I get there.’ ‘Dad –’ ‘I’ll be fine. I always am.’ ‘Dad, please –’ An ear-piercing scream ripped through the building. Derkein froze, his eyes the only things that moved. His gaze fixed on his father, who was rummaging through his bag. He took out a black pistol and turned to Derkein, a tortured expression on his face as he placed the weapon in his son’s trembling hand. ‘Shoot anything that moves,’ his father instructed. He placed the talisman around Derkein’s neck, tucking it inside his shirt. ‘Don’t let it out of your sight.’ Cupping Derkein’s face in his hands, he made him meet his gaze. ‘I’m so sorry I got you involved in this.’ He grabbed another gun from the bag. ‘What exactly have you got yourself into, Dad?’ His father looked at him with a solemn expression. ‘If anything happens to me, you find Thomas. Tell him … Tell him he was right.’ He headed towards the door. ‘Dad, wait.’ Derkein went after him. ‘Dad –’ The double doors burst open with a bang. His father opened fire. ‘Derkein, shoot!’ he yelled. Derkein glanced around the room in panic and confusion. He saw no one but his father. Then he felt a sharp pain in his arm, heard his shirt tear, and cried out. Something warm dribbled down his arm, and when he placed his hand on it, he saw blood. His father screamed, and he looked up and saw him flying across the room, crashing into a bookshelf that collapsed under him. ‘Dad!’ Derkein sprinted towards him but felt a powerful blow across his chest that sent him flying backwards, and he landed hard on the floor, his gun falling out of his hand. Staggering to his feet, he glanced around for whatever had attacked him but saw nothing. His gaze landed on his father, who was groaning … and then he was gone. There were no bright lights or loud noise. He had just vanished. As Derkein stared wide-eyed at the spot where his father had been lying only moments before, something like a blast of electricity stunned him, and he felt an intense burning inside his chest. He let out a cry as his body lifted off the ground and hung in midair. Seconds later, he came crashing down …
GIVEAWAY! #Book Blitz #My Not So Anonymous Friend by Elizabeth Arroyo #YA #LGBTQ+ @Xpresso Book Tours25/4/2022
My NOT So Anonymous Best Friend
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Noah As if the cosmos decided to force me to drool, Evan Santiago rode into the lot on his motorcycle. He wore a helmet with the visor down, hiding his face, but I didn’t need to see to know. The guy was all tight muscles and badness. He parked two spots away from my light blue jalopy with the word WEEBS 2 on the license plates and stickers of Kirito, Asuna, and Zero Two on the windows around my car. He dropped the kickstand and gracefully swung one powerful leg over the seat as he got off the bike. He pulled off his helmet and shook his deep black hair to perfection and crouched to get his satchel out of one of the saddlebags on the bike. His tee lifted, revealing a sliver of pale skin at his back. Damn. When had I started looking at Evan Santiago this way? I blinked away the moment and turned to the empty seat beside me. I caught sight of Sasha approaching the secret love of my life, having silently crept out of my car. I hadn’t even heard her close the door! Her little skort swayed over toned legs. The slut. Was I really thinking she was competition? Was I competition? Evan acknowledged her and she said something to him. He lifted his eyes in my direction—the color of green flames—forcing me to lose my breath. No. Evan couldn’t see me through the glare of the windshield. Nope. But that look still held me in some sort of trance. As if an invisible line had jettisoned out of his eyeballs and wrapped around my chest, crushing me. Yeah, too much anime for me. Then he suddenly looked away, and the crushing sensation lifted. I inhaled sharply, filling my lungs with much-needed oxygen. Man-whore. Why was I thinking of someone else when I had Carlos? That was not a good sign. Sasha took Evan’s arm, and they walked into the school together as if they were a couple. Were they a couple? The idea of them together left me confused. Nothing new, really. Just another normal day in the life of me. Evan was not interested in me. Despite the burning looks he gave me. Certainly, I was misinterpreting them. Maybe the guy had a bad case of acid indigestion. Or I had a bad case of TMI—too much imagination. With an audible sigh, I headed into the school alone. If I had to draw an abstract version of my high school, it would be a prism of varying stars and stripes. I was a stripe, while people like Evan Santiago were stars.
GIVEAWAY! #Book Blitz #The Last Beekeeper by Rebecca L.Fearnley #YA Fantasy #Dystopian @Xpresso Book Tours20/4/2022
The Last Beekeeper
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: The insect—for it can only be an insect—wanders groggily over the mound, seems to contemplate her fingertips for a moment and then clambers aboard. Its feet are so light, she can barely feel them. She holds the creature up to her face, frowning as it waggles its antennae. Its gold-and-black striped body gleams in the sun, fuzzy to the point of ridiculous, with delicate gossamer wings and antennae that twitch curiously. Solma stares. “What is it, d’you think?” It isn’t a beetle. Solma knows that much. Warren’s pulling at her fingertips, straining to see. Solma suppresses a smile and holds the creature out so he can get a better look. Warren’s eyes widen. “That’s a bee!” he whispers. Solma scoffs. “No it isn’t,” she laughs, ruffling his hair. “It can’t be, can it? There ain’t no more bees.” No one has seen one in over a century. This can’t possibly be a bee. Still. What’s the harm in letting her brother hope? She watches it wriggling on her finger. She can feel it now if she concentrates. The lightest brush of life against her skin. It buzzes its wings half-heartedly and Warren grins with delight. Solma can’t help grinning, too. It’s been such a long time since she’s seen him smile. “Why don’t it fly away?” Warren asks. “You think it’s sick?” Solma gently cups her other hand over the insect and draws it close to her chest. Could it be sick? The thought makes her sick, too. The summer skies have been empty of flying things for such a long time that suddenly she can’t bear the thought of this one falling ill. It buzzes against her again, shuffling down her finger and into her palm, as if accepting the safety she’s offering. Its little body thrums, begging protection. “Maybe it is sick,” Solma concedes, then balks at the stricken look on Warren’s face. “We’ll save it,” she says without thinking. It’s a daft thought. She doubts they can save it. If it really is a bee, it’s the only one she’s ever seen. Where can it possibly have come from?
GIVEAWAY! Alter
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: My eyes were weak, but I heard every heartbeat in the Hollow. Every thud had a signature as unique as each of the countless snowflakes piled outside. The chilly air stung my eyes and lips. My ears curled from the cold and the tips of my fingers were burned black. We didn’t even have a word for frostbite in the Dark World. Many Shadows who slept in the Hollow had missing fingers, hands, or entire arms and legs. Some limbs were taken in battle, others lost to the cold, but not one of them was a lesser fighter for it. We were born fighting, thrashing our way into the frosted wasteland of the Dark World with nothing but the voice in our heads. I’d named mine Wisdom. My conscience. The angel on my shoulder. The Devil. An imaginary friend—who wasn’t imaginary. A visitor in my head, whose thoughts were a plague on my mind. Do it now, Lennox. While Helectra’s sleeping. Her death will be quick and easy. You’ll be out of the Hollow before anyone knows you’re responsible. What if you’re wrong? I asked, my words heard by Wisdom alone. Helectra’s a spy! I went through the Crawlers’ records myself. Would you like to see them? Wisdom’s tone was far more threatening than helpful. No. I trust you. It was a two-week hike to the closest computer I’d be able to verify the information on, anyway. You should trust me. I’ve never been wrong. About anything. Wisdom’s irritation was so strong, a bitter taste settled on my tongue. We need to deal with Helectra before the Crawlers come after her. End her, Lennox. And don’t hurt anyone else this time. Wisdom’s memories threatened to pierce my mind. I focused my thoughts, pitting my will against hers like a shield. I only wanted her words. I couldn’t handle her feelings. Helectra wouldn’t end my life quietly. Crawler or not, I owe her a fight. I can do this. The pain will stay with me. Wisdom’s doubt broke my shield and tore through my body. Of course, Lennox. As always, you’ll do what you think is best. No matter what happens. Wisdom slipped from my mind, nothing but the jerk at my scalp to remind me a visitor was here. There was no time to celebrate the relief her quiet brought because once my visitor left, her voice was replaced with a new sound. Thump, thump, thump. Even a heartbeat sounded different when it belonged to a traitor. I followed the traitorous beat through the series of caves I’d sought refuge in with nearly thirty others. The children born during the Evernight were called Shadows, and the Crawlers hunted them mercilessly.
GIVEAWAY! Crossroads
-- EXCERPT: What did it mean to dream about the same place? While contemplating that question, I tried to find an opening through the field. Grabbing handfuls of grass, I pushed and pulled every which way. No matter how much I yanked, the vast wall of swaying grasses remained. Feeling defeated, I thought I would try one last time. Then he appeared. “Don’t you ever give up?” he said in the most hypnotic voice. His lips twitched, amused by my efforts. “Umm …” Stunned to see someone looking at me, I stared at the most perfect, glorious face, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. As his gaze continued to pierce mine, he stepped in my direction. Having no other choice, I retreated. He was intimidating, and his authority made me willingly compliant. My heart pounded mercilessly as I wondered what that guy could be doing here. He certainly fit the description of how I had envisioned the man of my dreams: six feet tall, dark hair, and warm, inviting brown eyes. He was lean but extraordinarily muscular, and his skin appeared to be made of satin. My face warmed as I admired his body. I wondered if he could read my unclean thoughts or hear my heart racing. Time seemed to stop as we stared into each other’s eyes—no need for words, just alone in each other’s company. The tension broke when he spoke. “What are you doing here? Do you want to be sent back like before?” Hearing his velvety voice again sent pleasant tingles to my core. But send me back like before? Then it dawned on me. It was his voice I had heard in my last dream. Although I felt frustrated and angered by his comments, I tried to stay calm and see where the dream would take me. “First of all, who are you?” I tried to sound composed. “And what are you doing in my dream?” “Your dream? You think this is a dream? Think again.”
GIVEAWAY! The Urban Boys: Discovery of the Five Senses
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: AS ONE WOULD IMAGINE, a mysterious forest might offer deep, eerie chills, especially at night. Instead, the forest cast a rich glow, and the environment was beautiful and serene. Walking slowly with their eyes absolutely feasting on the horticultural delights, the boys were approached by something they weren’t sure was real. It floated effortlessly, lighting up in a sporadic pattern, but had neither sound nor discernible shape, other than being somewhat clear and round. Its fluttering wings suspended it in the center of their disbelieving huddle. All eyes were on it, but what it was provoked more mystery than the forest itself. It bounced in a cheery, beckoning fashion, flashing its stunning wings, drawing the boys into a never-ending waltz. They were transfixed, unable to glance at each other, prevented by the daze each silently battled. The little glowing being carried about, moving closer to their faces. It moved in and out of trees, spewing sparkle and splendor, then floated away from the boys, yet stayed close enough to continue the enticement. Contributing to the amazing glow ricocheting from sprawling fronds to soaring trees and fallen leaves, the being’s creativity advanced in a display of twirls and spins, astonishing the boys. And they followed their little friend further and further into the forest. Deeper ahead, the visual spectacle beautifully intertwined with the clicking noise, which grew louder and more defined, moving up the scale into high notes. The repetition of the noise mesmerized the boys, equating to an invisible lasso. The friends grouped together, looking ahead and behind. Their stomachs tightened as the tension grew. What they saw next would pale in comparison to their little, wondrous friend, who steadily bounced around several curvy pathways. The small creature led them into an area deep within the preserve housing two large, floating, clicking balls of light. The boys instinctively covered their eyes, yet still tried to peep through their fingers. The light balls began spinning wildly and grew louder, with their tops spitting out free-falling shavings of light like fireworks. The sputtering light bounced off the dirt only to end up against a tree or one of the boys, then back down and up again. Slowing down, the beings moved in between the boys. Too scared to move and struggling with reality, the boys’ eyes locked onto the radiant balls. And with a striking force, the five friends were encased by a bright, piercing light as the balls exploded, emitting their energy onto the boys. Mixing and mashing north, south, east, and west, bright waves covered the soil, spreading across trees, rock, and all plant life. The forest fell silent, frozen like an inhale without an exhale. It was dark and quiet, except for the liquid energy dripping from the huge, wavy leaves. Being subjected to drifts both in and out of reality, the boys succumbed to the lure of a vacant black space within the deepest parts of their minds. They fell to the ground unconscious, laying in this forbidden domain in the center of a place they had been warned not to approach. And from some distance toward the other side of the preserve, a draped shadow had been looking inward and saw this mysterious incident. The curve of his black hood was loose enough for him to witness the unthinkable. But it also shrouded his expression, which was impassive. This figure, a dark stranger, had been watching the boys for a period of time and saw the explosion of light. He knew it had exposed them to a grave risk in this place of both awe and fear. He realized time would now take the reins as a master guide for these stricken young men, all of whom would need hope as a rod and stamina as a spear on the long journey ahead. Knowing the veil of normalcy would need to be maintained in order for this inconceivable episode to be minimized, the Dark Stranger drew upon his strength to physically move each of the boys to Rhee’s house. He knew familiar surroundings would ease them as they roused, barely able to comprehend their predicament. For he knew much, and every step, every footprint left an indelible impression on the path leading to the studio in Rhee’s backyard. Indeed, footprints providing a window to the past meshed with hope for the future. And like a laser, the Dark Stranger steadied his gait, hurling each one up and over his powerful shoulders. As he absorbed the totality of the scene, he breathed deeply. His head hung in a manner to which only trauma could relate. But in a sign of resilience it swiftly sprung back. Under the circumstances, he knew time would not be patient nor friendly. Welcome or unwelcome. Fate had arrived.
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