In New Mataram, a city at the foot of Mount Merapi, every martial-arts disciple bears a glowing "line" on their palm: their school, their master, and whether they have ever killed. Bara, a kind, wisecracking night bike-taxi driver, always hides his hands in gloves. One midnight ride to Ratu Boko leads him to a disciple whose palm has been skinned, and to a bracelet he once made for the little sister he left behind eight years ago.
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