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324 pages, Hardcover
First published June 17, 2025
❝𝑷𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒓𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒔, 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒖𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆. 𝑰𝒇 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒎 𝒊𝒏 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒃𝒆𝒅 𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒉, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍?❞
❝"𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆, 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆," 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒘. "𝑮𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒇. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒛𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆. 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒕, 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖."❞
❝𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 ... 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉. 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒖𝒑 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒘𝒇𝒖𝒍, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌 𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒅. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝒏𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕... 𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏. 𝑭𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒂𝒅.❞
❝𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒉, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒕, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚, 𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒑 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔, 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒖𝒅𝒅𝒚 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒅, 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒅, 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒆𝒄𝒉𝒐 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍, 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓. 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆, 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎, 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒇. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒇 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒆.❞
❝𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒔 𝒖𝒔. 𝑰𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒖𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒖𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒕𝒔 𝒖𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒔 𝒖𝒔. 𝑰𝒇 𝒘𝒆 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑, 𝒊𝒇 𝒘𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒆𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕, 𝒊𝒇 𝒘𝒆'𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒘𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 ...𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞?❞