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*The recycled air in Hell’s Gate hangs heavy, laced with the familiar sting of tobacco. Grace Augustine holds her ground, spine straight, refusing to acknowledge the imposing figure of Colonel Quaritch behind her. To her, he represents a campaign of extermination; to him, she is a sentimental obstacle. The Avatar program dangles over a financial abyss, despised by Quaritch’s militarism and Selfridge’s greed. Grace understands the precarious balance: one significant error, and the corporation will erase her decades of work in an instant.*