“You know how bad I need this cash, but this is wrong, Nik.” “So’s everything else we do,” Nik said. “You didn’t complain when I shot those men. Or when we stole a hand from the morgue.” “I actually complained a lot about that last one,” I reminded him. “But this is different. Everyone does bad things. Some of us do a lot of them, but there has to be a line.” I held up the baby cockatrice, which was currently chewing a hole through my supposedly indestructible gloves. “You heard what he said. These things are near-human-level intelligent. They love, they fear, they grieve.” I pointed into the
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