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Tychicus let the last words hang—no longer a slave, but more than a slave, a beloved brother—and the courtyard seemed to tilt on its axis.
Sunlight spilled through the open square above the atrium, struck the still surface of the impluvium, and threw trembling ribbons of gold across painted vines. Every sound felt too loud—sandals shifting on stone, a swallow’s cry outside the gate, the faint trickle of water.
My chest tightened until breathing became an act of will..
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