You Know, Aunt Tasha Makes

A Strange, Warm Feeling Swirled In My Chest, And For A Brief Moment, When I Looked At Him, I Saw...safety

ʺwhy,ʺ He Began Slowly, ʺis Victor Dashkov Joining Us?ʺ ʺwell, Itʹs Kind Of A Funny Story . . .ʺ

Hey, If You'd Wanted To Avoid 'this,' You Shouldn't Have Lured Me Last Night. Now It's Too Late. You Might As Well Avoid The Long, Drawn-out Pain And Get It Over With Quickly. Sort Of Like Taking Off A Band-aid. Or Cutting Off A Limb." "wow, Who Says There's No Romance Left In The World?

None Of The Bravado He Usually Showed Was There. I Guess There Was "usually" And Then There Was Being Held In The Grip Of A Really Ripped, Really Tall, And Really Pissed Off Russian Guy.

How Was It That Adrian Ivashkov, Who Never Seemed To Take Anything Seriously Was The Only One Among These "responsible" People Who Paid Attention To Such Small Details? How Was He The Only One To Really Understand The Magnitude Of What I Was Feeling?