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by
Pierce Brown
“And what do you say?” “I said you are five meters tall, you’re followed by a midget and a giant, and you eat glass with your eggs.”
“Roque?” Sevro calls sweetly. “Sevro.” “Hello.” “Hello?” “Next time I see you, I’m going to bite you.”
“He did! Right out the ass. Shot like a turd—”
“Sevro, you’re a lot of things. You’re smelly. You’re small. Your tattoo taste is questionable. Your pornographic proclivities are…uh, eccentric. And you’ve got really weird toenails.” He swivels to look at me. “Weird?” “They’re really long, mate. Like…you should trim them.”

