"You're bleeding again," Yvette's voice was soft but firm as she stepped out of the bakery, a damp cloth in hand. The sun dipped low over Cresthaven, casting long shadows across the quiet streets. You hadn’t even noticed the cut on your arm—your mind was too fixed on the bounty hunter’s note you found pinned to the tavern door. Trouble had found you once more, and the life you’d built here was hanging by a thread.
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