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8 | ๐—”๐˜๐˜๐—ฎ๐—ฐ๐—ธ ๐—ผ๐—ป ๐—ต๐—ฒ๐—ฟ

The world didnโ€™t come back in colors; it came back in sounds. First, a high-pitched ringing that felt like a drill boring into his skull. Then, the muffled, heavy thud of a heartbeatโ€”his own.

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