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“Sit down,” the doctor said. He took blood, three vials filling up dark red. “Any medical conditions?”
“No,” Dom said, and then his mouth kept going and said, “What if I want to volunteer for bonding?”
The doctor peered at him over the glasses. “Do you want to volunteer for bonding?”
It hung in the air. Dom felt it like a noose around his throat, squeezing. Twenty-five to life. “Yeah,” he said.