Page 39
Story: Seeing Red (The Codex #1)
They let me go. Baron and Castor let me go. I’m free. I’m free to kill Alastor.
I move inward towards the back of the church, keeping deep enough into the treeline that I’m not seen, but I can still see the contractors bustling about, unmasked and relaxed, joking like they don’t kill people for money. They’re a trail of smoke, and Alastor is the fire. He’s in there, and I’m going to kill him. And Baron and Castor let me.
I thought I’d feel the weight off my shoulders, but the thought only pulls deep at my gut. Baron and Castor—they just... released me. It’s not like them. Something doesn’t feel right.
I look back, part of me hoping that they’d try to convince me to stay, but they’re already gone, vanished into thin air. I’m on my own now.
My jaw clenches and my hands ball into fists. It’s time I end this. I’m free now, which means I can finally deal with Alastor myself.
Baron’s warning makes the hairs on my neck stand as I creep closer, but it’s too late to turn back. I’m not a coward, just because Alastor has bodies doesn’t make them smart. An idiot with a gun is more of a danger to his allies than his targets.
More Acacia soldiers flood the area, and I slip behind a tree. Now isn’t the time to worry about where Baron and Castor disappeared to. Alastor is all that matters right now.
I’ll need to grab a change of clothes first.
A man breaks away from the group, inching into the treeline when I jostle the leaves on the ground. He wanders deeper, the muzzle of his rifle pushing away branches and leaves until it comes into view.
I lunge at him, ripping his rifle from his hands and slamming it into his face. He rears back with a grunt and his mouth opens to call for help, but I yank his knife from his belt, clamping his mouth shut from behind and drawing the knife across his throat.
Blood spurts onto the trees in front of us, my hands, my face. His body convulses, gurgling sounds coming from underneath my hand as he jerks and fights weakly.
“Shhh.” I hold him tight until I feel his body slowly grow limp and then I let go, allowing him to crumple to the floor, dead. I can’t help but smile a little.
Now I have armor, a mask and weapons.
I quickly strip him of his clothes, throwing his uniform on and strapping the kevlar tightly to my body. It fits a lot more snugly than the clothes Castor gave me, and moving is finally more tolerable. I stare at the rifle discarded on the ground. It’s an unusual weapon, an uncommon gun I’ve never used before, but I’ve heard of plenty of times. A Hallow. It sports a medium caliber bullet, but the casing is hollow with shrapnel inside. It’s designed to explode—unlike most guns—and to kill as many people as possible. Removing a bullet is a lot easier than hundreds of tiny shrapnel pieces in the chest. It’s a lethal weapon and illegal—-banned by most countries for that purpose.
I pick up the rifle, inspecting it in my hands. Of course Acacia would use it. I’m surprised the sniper didn’t. But it’ll kill fast.
It’s a fascinating weapon. Maybe something I could use to my advantage.
I sling the gun over my shoulder and slip his balaclava over my face, merging into the crowd of other mercenaries lounging around the church. I keep my head down and quiet, trying not to give away anything that could direct heads at me. The last thing I want is to look suspicious. So I keep to the edges but still within the bustle of people, listening for Alastor.
I creep towards the doors but stop when I hear two men grumbling just inside the building.
Guards.
“Why the fuck are we still here, Sasha?” The younger-sounding complains. “There’s nothing else out here and the smell of all these corpses is fucking disgusting.”
A gruff voice responds, clearly older and far less tolerant.
“Don’t question his order,” the man, Sasha, says coldly. “We’re here for a reason, so keep your mouth shut and do what you’re told.”
“The Codex is dead,” the younger argues. “We should be out having a drink, but instead, we’re sitting here with our thumb up our ass while the boss is moping around in his office.”
“River, shut the fuck up!” Sasha hisses.
His voice lowers as he reprimands River, chastising him like a child, and I press my ear closer to hear him.
“If you keep talking like that, you’ll end up in Brownstone again.” Sasha says.
River grows quiet, and I swear I hear a gasp but then they move away and the area grows silent. I notice more mercenaries filing in through the double doors up front and I follow in behind them, clutching my hallow, as I ease inside towards the increasing noise in the main hall of the church.
“Sir, we need to move on. The Codex is dead.”
“Bullshit!”
I recognize the voice instantly. It echoes down the hall as does his anger that I’d learned all too well.
Alastor.
The main hall is coated in a deep red, velvet like blood lining the floors with a gray on the walls that’s illuminated by the sconces on each corner. Pews line the back walls and a large landing is centered on the opposite wall where Alastor stands, speaking down to the mass of mercenaries under him.
His face is red with anger, a large vein bulging from his buzzed head as he argues with the man previously called River. “I’ll believe those shitstains are dead when I have their heads on my front lawn. Now go find them!”
River tries again, matching Alastor’s stubbornness, “Our squad has covered every inch of the mountains. If the animals didn’t eat them, then the storm killed them.”
Alastor goes still, his eyes narrowing into thin slits. “Come here, River.”
River freezes, looking back at the man behind him, but he offers no help before he moves hesitantly towards him.
Fear creeps up my spine in an instant, and I lunge forward, only barely managing to stop myself in time to remind me where I am, even as I know what’s about to happen to the kid.
River stands just below the podium, his chin turned up slowly to look up at Alastor. The entire room grows silent. Some watch with the same fear as me while others watch with a disturbed grin, watching and waiting.
Without warning, Alastor slams his gun directly into his face. River falls back, blood dripping down from his black curls.
“That’s exactly the kind of thinking that put my brother in the ground,” Alastor snarls. He spits at the kid, his face contorted in a type of anger that makes me flinch. “Be grateful I’m in a good mood, because otherwise, you’d be the one in a box. Now go—and take Sage and the new guy with you.”
A large burly man steps out of the crowd, hauling River to his feet without another word and dragging him out the door by the arm with two others following close behind.
He stands up straight, his eyes dark. “Does anyone else have a comment to make?”
Silence. No one dares.
“Good. Now fan out and find the bunker. I want it emptied and blown to pieces. Understood?”
They scatter and in seconds, the hall is empty with only Alastor and I left inside. So Alastor doesn’t know where the bunker is either. But he knows it’s here. That means Baron and Castor will be fighting hundreds of mercenaries to find the bunker…and Alastor will be all alone until then.
Perfect.
I flex my fingers, forcing them to uncurl from the tight fist they were bound into, and I peel away from the wall, inching closer to him.
Alastor’s eyes flick to me, squinting through the flood lights on the stage. “Tate. You’re not due back until tomorrow. What’s your report?”
I keep silent and move in closer, slowly. Alastor knows something is wrong, but I can’t blend in now. I’m so close.
Alastor looks me over, suspicion growing. “If you’ve found anything—”
I shake my head, grinning from underneath my mask. My hand tightens around the gun on my back, but just as I lift it, his radio crackles to life.
“Target is on the grounds. Our security is compromised. Tate is down, sir. We need medical.”
I meet a single look in Alastor’s eyes. Fear and then fury.
I lift the gun and fire, but the shot goes wide, the round kicking back against my side and making me double over in pain. Alastor moves fast, leaping off the stage and trying to yank the rifle from my hands. I yank it back, swinging it at him, but he ducks again before crouching and sweeping my legs out from under me. I hit the ground hard, the wind knocked from my lungs.
Before I can recover, Alastor is on me, my gun in his hands and striking my temple. Pain explodes across my temple and then darkness.
The pain in my head is almost blinding when I wake up. The lights above me make it infinitely worse, despite being dull before, now they’re impossibly bright and almost pulls me back under. My arms are numb, a familiar sensation of rope being wrapped around them and tucked behind my back as I’m forced up to my knees on the hard carpeted floor.
A figure comes into my vision, slowly clearing of the blur the blood provides, but I don’t need to see to know who it is, or how fucked I just made myself.
“There’s a thing or two about intuition,” Alastor says. He presses his lips together in a hard line, shrugging. “I really hate when it’s right, but it keeps me from looking like an idiot. I never believe someone is really gone unless I burn their bodies myself.”
Cold air stings against my cheek when I open my mouth to speak. My mask is gone. Great.
“You’ve changed a lot since I saw you last. When was that? Six weeks ago?”
When my vision steadies, I can finally see the horrific description in front of me. Several burns mark his neck and head, barely visible through the short hairs on top of his head. His clothes hang against his body, not as tight as they were on his previously muscular frame. He looks starved and sickly.
“You look like you’ve had better days,” I slur.
He tsks, clicking his tongue in disappointment. “Helena, is that any way to talk about an old friend?”
“Only after they conspired for four years to kill me,” I retort.
He presses his lips, agitation crossing his face. “Yes, I can imagine that would sour most friendships.”
“Enough of the mind games.” I snap, meeting his eyes with a hot glare. “I’ve had more than my fair share of bullshit this year.”
“Oh, I can see that.” He takes a step closer, lifting the collar of my jacket to reveal the edges of the scar on my chest. “It never ceases to amaze me how… creative they can be,” he hums. “I was hoping you’d freeze to death before they got their hands on you. My brother overestimated their character.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” I bark out a laugh. “You and Bane had just enough intelligence to figure out which way to point a gun. Good thing it has a safety option—you wouldn’t want to get hurt.”
Alastor nods to a guard, a second later, I fall back when a guard throws a powerful blow to my cheek. Blood trickles from my lip, but I force myself to sit up and flash him a bloody grin.
“Is that it? I expected worse.”
“I’m not fond of torture,” Alastor shrugs. “I’d rather let them kill you.”
“So why haven’t you?” I ask, spitting a bead of blood onto the floor, watching as it mixes into the carpet. “Afraid you’ll miss like Bane? Or has it taken you four years to grow the balls to do it?”
His gaze hardens. “You’ll get your wish. My brother wasn’t a patient man, and he often acted on impulse. But I’m not my brother. I’ve waited a lot longer for things that matter to me.”
I laugh, wincing as it sends a fresh wave of pain through my body. “I wouldn’t be laughing yet,” I cough. “The way I see it, your contractors are dropping like flies while you’ve been cowering in here, praying to your brother for the slightest clue of what to do.”
The guard slams his fist into my stomach this time, and I gasp, my air completely stolen from me. I fall forward but the guard pulls me up again.
Alastor crouches in front of me, seeming to look at me with pity. “I said I wasn’t fond of torture,” he mutters. “I never said I wouldn’t use it.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I wheeze, my chest throbbing with pain from the struggle to take in air. “If you knew anything, you wouldn’t be wasting your time with me.” I force a laugh, instantly regretting it when it forces a bolt of pain throughout my chest. “You don’t know where the bunker is. You’re just a sitting duck, scrambling for power and order.”
His smile falters for the briefest second, but he covers it with a nod. “Is that what you think? Maybe you’re right,” he says, turning to the guard. “Or maybe not.”
I brace myself for another strike, but I don’t flinch. My vision blurs from the force, but I can feel the ropes loosening behind my back and the knife strapped to the man’s ankle loosening every time he hits me.
Just a little more.
“You’re not very subtle, Helena,” Alastor says in a condescending tone. “You might be able to use those tactics to interrogate other people, but not me. Who do you think taught you that in the first place?”
I glare up at him, ignoring the sharp pain in my skull. “You’re going to kill me anyway, so why does it matter?”
He glances over me, just for a moment before he stands, shrugging. “Kill her.”
More blows fall onto my body, each one more powerful and soon I’m on my back, curling in on myself to stop the pain exploding all around my body, my chest, my face, my ears.
The guard hauls me to my knees again and a sharp shing comes from his feet before his blade is released and pressed hard against my throat to bleed me out the same way I’d done to Tate.
“Stop.” He holds up a hand. “That’s enough.”
The guard pulls back instantly and sheathes the knife, while Alastor glances back at me with a satisfied grin on his face.
“That was a warning,” he says darkly. He grabs my jacket, fisting the collar in his hands and jerking me close enough that I can smell the rot in his teeth. “I never liked you. I never wanted you anywhere near us. I told Anthony it was a stupid fucking idea, but in his mind, you were too close to Acacia to leave alone and too strong-willed to contract, so he brought you into his military.”
His ramble goes on, spit flying in my face as he tries to tear me down by mocking me, so much that he doesn’t hear the soft thud as the guard’s knife wiggles loose from his ankle and falls into my hands. I fumble it in my hands, nodding along to him like I actually give a fuck about his story about how he decided I was too stupid to join his cult, and I start sawing at the ropes slowly.
He scoffs. “A target as his captain.”
“Why?”
“Surveillance.” He rubs his face, groaning. “Come on, Helena, you should know better than that. The long game. I convinced him to wait to try and kill you. We have enough connections, but piss off the wrong man and everything goes to shit. At least Anthony knew that.”
One of the ropes snap and I just keep nodding.
Sure, Alastor. Sure.
“If I’m that much of a threat, then kill me.” I growl, throwing the challenge in his face that I know he won’t take.
Another rope snaps at the same time as Alastor’s patience.
“You think I won’t?” His hand shoots out, squeezing my throat hard.
I cough and gag, my wrists tightening painfully on the ropes but I keep cutting. Another snap. Almost there.
He’s squeezing too hard and black dots at my vision faster than I’m able to cut the ropes, but just as I think I might pass out again, he releases me.
I fall forward, coughing and gasping. What is it with men and choking?
I sniffle, looking up at him with a scowl. “Pussy.”
He sits on the edge of the stage, watching me. “Am I?”
“What are you waiting for then?”
“For Baron and Castor.”
I freeze, a chill running quickly up my spine.
“Don’t act so surprised,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Those two have been obsessed with you since John died and you’re not smart enough to escape on your own. If you’re alive, so are they. In fact…” He plucks the knife from my hands. “...I wouldn’t be surprised if they sent you in here as bait. Their own sacrificial lamb.” He points to my scarred chest. “They may claim to be different, but they learned from the best.”
My brows push together. What the hell is he talking about?
He only laughs at my confused expression.
“They never told you?”
It’s not uncommon for enemies to try and manipulate and lie to throw us off, but even if he was, his comment made no sense. It only makes me nervous and feel a disturbing urge to protect Baron and Castor.
“They didn’t send me in here. I did,” I frown. “You’re my kill, not theirs.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs, pressing his lips into a thin line. “...but a dog will always fetch when he’s thrown a bone.”
“And what happens when you’re thrown Bane’s head? Gonna fetch the rest of him?”
I cry out when the guard slams his gun into the back of my head, knocking the knife from my hands before I can get free. I fall forward, my face smacking against the carpet, but the guard hikes a leg over my body, throwing his fist into me again and again. He doesn’t stop and Alastor doesn’t stop him, even as blood pours from my mouth and my strangled cries turn to nothing each time the oxygen is punched out of my lungs.
I can see Alastor’s shoes, and feel his cold stare on me while the man beats me, cold and unfeeling.
Then the blows stop, his fist bloody and hovering above my head.
Alastor frowns, taking a step forward. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”
I don’t move or breathe. I hold my body tight and tense, waiting for another agonizing blow, but it doesn’t come. I dare to open my eyes and the guard is still above me, his fist tucked into his side as his large frame hovers above me. He watches me with those dark blackened eyes, like a void.
Castor.
His eyes narrow when he catches my stare and his fist tightens, though he doesn’t move. He gives a slow shake of his head that makes my heart pick up.
Alastor snarls, shoving Castor off me as he yells, “I said not to stop!” He yanks me out from under him, ripping Castor’s knife from the floor before he drives it across my face.
I cry out, flinching away from the blade. Warmth spreads across my cheek, dripping quickly onto my neck when Alastor grabs me again, pulling me up by the collar.
“If you’re right,” he sneers, pressing the blade against my face, “then I don’t need to keep you anymore.”
He raises the blade high but when his eyes catch a glimpse of it, he gasps. He stares at it, taking note of the silver lines decorating the white of the curved blade. He drops it in fear, backing away and dropping me to the ground.
The ropes binding my wrists snap again when I fall to the hard floor, but I don’t move yet, not until Alastor is closer. He’s looking around frantically, his breaths ragged and panicked and I look back behind him and see it. There’s only two guards. One that’s so tall he towers above the others and the other lean and muscular, clutching his weapons tightly as he hovers by the door.
Alastor catches Castor’s gaze and underneath his mask, I can see him smile as he raises a knife.
“Fetch.” Castor throws the knife, only barely missing Alastor’s head as he ducks out of the way.
I jump to my feet, leaping back and frantically trying to break off the last frayed rope as Alastor advances again.
Castor jumps in front of me, throwing Alastor to the ground with a single punch. He moves forward in long, purposeful strides, sweeping Baron’s knife off the ground and driving it straight into Alastor’s chest.
He grunts, stepping back in pain but he doesn’t fall. He rips the knife from his armor and blood drips out, only just managing to nick his skin.
Fuck.
Alastor falls to his knees, chest heaving with hard breaths and Castor stands above him, his eyes dead and merciless as he watches him bleed. Then Alastor turns, freeing a small gun from his leg and firing directly at Castor. It barely misses him, his body jerking back as the bullet whizzes past his head.
He runs to me, taking me by the arm as I’m trying to wiggle free. “Time to go, doll.” He pulls me out of the hall and to the doors of the cathedral, not stopping even as I’m tripping over myself while trying to keep his pace. The ropes won’t budge even after most of them have broken, and I’m at Castor’s mercy trying to balance while my arms are utterly useless.
He pushes me out of the double doors, grabbing his gun.
“Castor—”
“Go,” he says, pointing to the woods behind the church. “I’ll be right behind you.” He disappears inside the doors a second later and gunfire lights up through the muted stained glass.
I run, circling back the way I came and when I look behind me, my jaw drops. Every single mercenary is dead. The ground is littered with bodies and blood, hundreds of them struck dead in minutes.
I fumble in my strides, my eyes locked on the bodies. They’re all dead. Every single one.
What the fuck did they do?
Another rain of bullets from the church makes me duck and I back up into the treeline until the church has disappeared from my vision. I turn and sprint into the woods only to knock into someone directly behind me. I scramble back until I see his face half visible from where his balaclava is pulled up.
“Baron?”
He sighs, pulling his mask back down before he glances over my shoulder.
“Get down!” He yanks me down and seconds later, gunfire starts, a single rifle firing into the trees. Baron takes out one of his stilettos, waiting one second, then two, and throws it, landing it directly into the mercenary’s eye.
He turns back to me, yanking off his mask. His black hair falls in front of his face in thick strands, quickly sticking against the beads of sweat on his forehead. “For fuck’s sake, are you capable of doing anything without starting a war?”
I’d hit him if I could, but I need my hands free first and Alastor’s head after.
“Just get me out of these.” I tug at the ropes, but they only bite into my wrists, rubbing them painfully as I try to force them to break apart.
Baron moves behind me, his fingers digging into the thick knots. I press my wrists closer together, trying to loosen the material enough for him to break through them.
“Why did you come back?” I say over my shoulder. “You told me I was on my own.”
“No, you insisted on leaving,” he argues. “We figured you’d fuck up and distract Alastor, and I was right.”
I look over my shoulder, craning to see his face but he refuses to look at me, only concentrating on the knots on my wrists.
“Why did you come back?” I ask again.
He looks up at me through the strands of hair hiding his eyes. They’re harsh and angry and something else I can’t quite decipher.
Before he gets a chance to answer, a truck screeches into the clearing and three men get out, firing directly into the treeline. Baron pulls my head down against his chest, shielding me, and runs deeper into the forest.
He keeps me in front, his back to the line of fire as he pushes me back in towards the outskirts of the city. “Come on, doll, don’t drag your feet.”
We move quickly through the buildings, but he doesn’t take time to clear them. More and more men spot us but he doesn’t stop to kill them. He pushes me forward until we reach the demolished school. He leads me inside, leading me into a classroom in the back of the school. It’s still intact, a small room with charred paintings on the walls and rows of desks from one wall to the other only separated by a large support beam in the center of the room.
He shuts the door, pressing his ear against the wood door.
The gunfire only seems to get louder and bombs shake the structure, kicking up dust around us. Screams are heard, followed by more bombs.
I watch with wide eyes. “What the fuck is happening? They’re killing themselves!”
“We warned you. Acacia doesn’t play fair.” He looks around the room, pressing his hand on the walls like he’s testing the soundness of the structure.
“What are we doing here, Baron? We need to find Castor and get out of here.”
“No,” he says, simply. He pulls me closer and my breath hitches. He cocks his head, his eyes flicking from mine to my lips. There’s an unsettling softness in his.
I shut my eyes when his hand caresses my face and when he leans in, I almost fall to my knees. But he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, his lips move up to my ears and his hand drops from my face.
“I’m doing what I should’ve done in the first place.” He shoves me back, his hand tight around the ropes binding me.
I hit the beam with a harsh thud, and the black dots in my vision come back, muting the world around me before I realize he’s pulled a rope from his pocket and securing me to the support beam.
“What are you doing?!” I shriek.
“Keeping you out of trouble.” He doesn’t look at me and that softness in his face is gone.
I jerk frantically against the beam. This can’t be happening. This can’t be fucking happening.
“Baron, this isn’t funny! Untie me!”
He secures the rope around it, trapping me. He steps back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, you did your part. You drew their fire and now we need to finish this without intervening. Fury will come find you.” He moves to the door, ignoring the panic on my face. “Stay quiet and don’t get into any more trouble.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?! I’m not a child!”
“Sometimes I wonder!” He crosses the room in seconds, slamming his hand above my head and caging me in. “You are the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever had the misfortune of dealing with. This isn’t a request. You can’t handle Acacia, and I don’t want your death on my conscience. You want to stay alive? Stay out of the way!” He storms out of the room, the room shaking as the door slams shut.
I tug against the ropes, trying to saw them against the corners of the beam but they won’t break.
I growl in frustration. “You fucking asshole!”
Panic tightens in my chest, but the ropes won’t break. He left me. He fucking tied me up and left me while there’s people outside trying to kill us. Of all the times for the Codex to make a stupid decision, it had to be within twenty feet of grenades going off in a collapsing building.
I wrench my hands around, trying to untie the knots myself. “Come on, come on…”
The door creaks open and my head shoots up, ready to scream at Baron, but it’s not him who opened the door.
It’s Alastor.
He’s hunched over, his eyes wide and bloodshot. A large gash stretches over his head, staining his face and his eye with blood.
I don’t dare move. Alastor has always had an even temper, even when he’s beating the fuck out of everyone. This isn’t Alastor. This is something else—a man without a soul, without anything to lose.
He stalks forward and I flatten myself against the beam, desperately trying to create space. “Stay the fuck away from me!”
He doesn’t answer me, moving in slow measured steps.
I can’t get free, even as my efforts to break the ropes are more frantic. The one person Baron didn’t want me anywhere near and he trapped me in a closed room with him.
He stops right in front of me, a deadly silence falling on the room before his hand shoots out, grabbing my throat with alarming strength. He lets out a ragged breath, his other hand reaching up but not quite touching my face.
“I tried,” he whispers. He leans into my neck, sniffling. “I wanted to give you a quick death. Now look at what you’ve done. You have no idea how much worse it could’ve been for you. I wanted to give you mercy.” His grip tightens around my throat, a sickly smile on his face as his eyes sparkle with tears. “I still can. You have no idea just how bad things can get.” He releases me suddenly, stepping back as I bend down in another coughing fit.
What brings me back is a foul liquid being splashed on me. I flinch, but another hits me, coating my neck and soaking through my clothes and pooling at my feet.
He takes a step back, a clear bottle clattering to the floor.
“Remember that I said that.” He steps into the doorway, pulling a lighter out of his pocket. “This is an act of mercy.”
My eyes widen, and the smell suddenly becomes all too clear.
No…
Alastor drops the lighter and the room engulfs in flames instantly.
The flames flood throughout the floor, and my clothes catch on fire, soaking my pants, and my jacket. The heat is scorching and I scream in panic, frantically wrestling with the ropes, but they won’t budge.
“Somebody help!” I scream.
The flames quickly melt through my clothes, traveling to my wrists and igniting every nerve along with it. It’s excruciating and I can’t move or free myself. Tears stream down my face from the pain and my knees buckle.
The flames lick at the ropes and eventually burn through them. I fall forward, crying out in more pain when I land in the pool of fire, setting my arms on fire. I roll out of the flames, frantically throwing off my jacket and patting at my clothes. The flames dissipate slowly, but the fire around me has only grown. I sprint to the door, tugging at the knob but it doesn’t budge. It’s locked.
“No, no no!”
The flames have caught on the walls, smoke billowing throughout the windowless room.
I cover my face with my sleeve but the smoke is too thick and every cough burns my lungs worse than the ones around me. I pound on the door, my palm beating on the wood but no one hears.
“Help!” I cough out.
I look back and the flames are caught on my heels, and I scream.
“Baron!!!”
Table of Contents
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- Page 39 (Reading here)
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