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Every night, the same vision: a pale hand reaching out of a mirror, holding the ash of his locket. And a voice, not the Pawnbroker’s, but his own, from a mouth that was no longer his: “You are my XXXPawn. The third X is a leash.”

He woke gasping. He looked in the mirror. His reflection was gone. In its place was the Pawnbroker’s smooth, blank face. xxxpawn

He took the money. He bought his upgrades. He fled Veridia. Every night, the same vision: a pale hand