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Kael hesitated. “Lina. My daughter. She’s—”

Kael’s blood ran cold. “You’re offering yourself?”

“That’s not a bridge,” Kael whispered. “That’s a grave.”

Kael held her close, feeling the faintest ghost of a hand on his shoulder. And in the corner of his vision, just for a second, a tiny blue light flickered—before vanishing into the data-stream forever.

“Dad,” she whispered, “I had the strangest dream. Someone taught me how to fly… by letting go.”

“You’re sad. And scared. And your hands smell like coffee and desperation. Did I get it right?”

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