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Summary
Since the amputation of his right arm, Zanka has been hollowed out. He doesn’t resist when Rudo brings him food, combs his hair or stays too close.
Rudo tells himself it’s kindness. He brushes his lips against Zanka’s cheek, watching closely.
For a moment, Zanka’s eyes sharpen a bit, a fracture in the numbness. Rudo’s breath catches.
Was that consent? Recognition? Or nothing at all?
He leans in again, needing to be sure.
