“Why do they call you Mr. Pitbull?” I glance at my “slave-owner” with caution. “I don’t feel pain.” “I see…” I turn away toward the window, wrapping myself in my thin fur coat. From the cold and fear, I tremble.
On the windshield: the pass “Senior operative officer Kasyanov B. M.”
Closing my eyes, I rest my head against the glass.
“Why are you shaking?” he says, annoyed. “Freezing?” “Scary.” “Scary, girl—standing there on the roadside and naming the price for people in cars pulling up!” “I’m not telling the truth! He lied about everything!” “Sure…” with annoyance. “Let me go, please.” “What’s the point?—No-no… You’ll work in a different guise for now. Maybe you’ll come to your senses.”
“Who—?”
“The Snow Maiden.”