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Clementine hunched over her bowl of stew and turned in her seat to avoid eye contact with Percy Blankencourt. He sat at the bar, glancing over his shoulder, itching to walk over, but she had pushed the other chairs away from her table when she sat down—a clear signal that she wanted no company. So far, it held him off, but it wouldn’t be long. This time of day, the Pick Axe was sparse on clientele. Clementine recognized a few independent miners who worked the outer craters. A couple of reps from the Collaborative prattled at a table across the