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The Wardian


It was done.

Bentamin leaned back in his chair.

He had examined his motives; he had weighed the probable harm that would come from doing nothing, against the possible good that would come from doing—something.

He had weighed possible outcomes.

Innocents were in it, but they were well guarded. His quarry would either stampede—or stay the course, leaving him to wait, and watch for the next error.

And hope that there wasn’t another murder in it.


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Framed