17.2

Kalmin didn’t speak—he couldn’t. He’d always known purebreds hated hybrids. He’d carried that hatred himself. But to try and murder a toddler?

“Who?” he asked, low and strained.

Nuri rolled her eyes, but Kalmin’s expression hardened.

“Tell me who, Nuri.”

“Why does it matter?” she muttered, standing ...

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