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Proserpina

“Knew you wouldn’t miss tonight,” he says, as mustachioed men circle and sweat. “You’ve got a thing for Black Jack Sullivan.”

“I came to tell you I won’t be attending these fights anymore.”

“Oh, I see,” says Elijah, “now you have your own league in there to keep you entertained.”

“In fact, it’s because you made clear the risks–”

“Which risks in particular?” he says crookedly.

Proserpina’s pulse pounds in her healing eye. “Don’t try to be coy.”

“The risk of getting chased around by some squint-eyed cinema boy?”

“The risk of getting caught and–” she hesitates. “By some what?”

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