“I’m your sister. You don’t have to be this way with me,” I said, as gently as I could. Ryzek was staring at the stain on his cuff. He didn’t respond, which I decided was a good sign. “Do you remember how we used to play with those little figurines in my room?” I said. “How you taught me to hold a knife? I kept making that tight fist and cutting off circulation to my fingertips, and you taught me how to fix it.” He frowned. I wondered if he did remember—or was that one of the memories he had traded for one of Eijeh’s? Still, maybe he had taken in some of Eijeh’s gentleness when he traded away
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