“No blood family.” I sit up, scrubbing my beard. I need to escape Vale’s gravity, or I’ll sing like a canary. “So…” she processes. “Jace and Grant and Michael Cummings, they’re like your brothers?” “We go way back. I owe them. They owe me. We’re bonded for life.” “Are you Russian?” “Half Scottish, half Spanish, and done with this conversation.”
