“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.