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The jet engine roared beneath them as the Phoenix strike team flew over the jagged edge of the Pyrenees. Night cloaked the mountain range in inky blue shadow, but Isla wasn't looking at the view.
She was reading a message that should not exist.
FROM: Lucía Maren.
TO: Isla.
SUBJECT: 18A.
"If you're reading this... I'm already gone. But they lied a
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