“How’s your injury holding up?” Harlan inquired, his gaze shifting to Marcus’s arm, his demeanor earnest.

“I’m still holding on,” Marcus responded.

The glass found its reprieve upon the table as Marcus unshackled his tie with a casual grace.

“Give me a ring before you can’t hold on, and I’ll whisk you away to Raven Island, rescuing you from the depths of hell.”

Marcus let out a derisive snort, retorting, “Well, thanks then.”

For the ensuing duration, the room succumbed to quietude, with both occupants displaying a penchant for reticence.

A N G E L A ‘s L I B R A R Y

phone

pastoral vista adorned with stars, a whispered tale

of stars adorned the canvas of

grin, Marcus typed a

a void

sent images like cerulean skies or sunsets, it was

Millie’s response arrived.

want to share the beauty of the starry countryside sky with

with a self-assured

in

with his screen, Harlan surmised that he must be conversing with Millie. Left with nothing to occupy his time, Harlan uncorked

of Devil Bar, a flirtatious Maserati graced its cessation, its allure undeniable. And from the shadows of his

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