18″Alimov sits stiffly, hands clasped together, eyes darting around the room. He clears his throat before speaking. Alimov. Espionage. Closed spaces, private meetings—I hear everything.
He shifts slightly, as if second-guessing his words. I… I don’t forget. Every conversation, every detail, it stays with me.
He exhales sharply, forcing a small, nervous chuckle. Which is great… unless you hear something you wish you hadn't.
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