would be easy for you. You seemed like the sort of person it would be easy for.” “I don’t want to talk about this.” Akos cradled his head in his hands. He couldn’t stand to think of how easy it had been. Suzao hadn’t had a chance, hadn’t known what he was walking into. Akos felt more like a murderer now than he had after his first kill. At least that—Kalmev’s death—had been wild and mad, almost a dream. Not like this. Jorek set a hand on his shoulder. Akos tried to shrug him off, but he wouldn’t be shrugged, not until Akos looked at him. “My mother sent me with this,” Jorek said. He drew a
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