“I erased the last few hours from what Miles is going to remember about tonight.”
“Way to make an uninteresting choice.”
“How many times are you going to make me do this, Bones?”
He laughed, dismissively, “You’re master, I’m familiar. You call the shots here.”

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"My mother calls me Kostya for short. It’s a name that’s meaningful now, since on my bones––embedded into every inch––is a tiny Cyrillic character. They tell the story of the night I lost my freedom."

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