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Jon snaps to awareness. His breath feels as if it’s being punched out of him and when he drags air back into his lungs it is like his throat, the soft flesh of it, is having razor barbed wire tugged through it. He clutches at the shirt over his chest, pulling at the worn cotton until the collar cuts into his skin by his neck and rubs it raw.
”Jon?” Martin’s voice comes from next to him. ”Are you alright?”
A nightmare, and a difficult conversation at the end of humanity.
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