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When his vision cleared, the radio tower was gone. The coastal highway had dissolved into a muddy track. And where the tourist village should have been, there was only a thatch-roofed hall, smoke twisting from its central vent, and the smell of wet wool and woodsmoke.
“Will we meet again?”
And as the light swallowed him, he heard Arthur speak three words—not to him, but to the future: pendragon cycle brett cooper