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Summary
“It just doesn’t taste right,” your Captain hisses. Her tongue rolls out against her dark lips, gray-teal and hungry. “No sigil, no marks, no brands-- he’s not from any guilds, gangs, or families, he’s not even a goddamn assassin, his hands are all the wrong shape. And yet we caught him in your respite block, trying to steal your signet ring while you slept.”