when she meets me halfway, throwing her arms around me.
“Ten! I’m so glad you’re okay. I knew something was wrong when your dad refused to give me the name and address of the boarding school you were supposedly attending, but I had no idea...not until the girl, Elena, came to see me.”
Boarding school. That’s what he told family and friends? “I was in prison, Aunt Lina, but I’m okay now. I’m actually kind of grateful for the experience.” I’m stronger, and I have the answers I’ve always craved. The direction. Killian. Archer.
“Come on.” She draws me into the house, one of her arms remaining locked around my shoulders. “Elena said you have a tracker inside you. I need to—”
“Yes. Killian told me. Though I don’t know how it’s possible.”
“I’ll explain when we’re in the shed.” Aunt Lina leads me past the cozy living room with the floral-print couch, lacy doilies and cat figurines, past the kitchen with yellow linoleum and chipping and peeling cabinets, then into the backyard, where a wooden shed consumes half the space.
Inside it, I grind to a halt. This is a serial killer’s wet dream. Sharp, shiny tools hang from the walls. There’s a gurney with straps awaiting a prisoner.
“Do you trust me?” she asks.
“Yes.” Of course. Maybe. Probably. Zero! Way to test my limits.
“I’ve worked for Myriad for twenty-two years. I’ve heard things...seen things. I know what I’m doing, honey. Lie on the gurney. Please.”
I hesitate. “Will you get into trouble for this?”
“Nah. Who can prove I did it? Anyway, some things are worth the risk and you, my dear, are one of them.”
I hope you’re worth it. How many times have I heard those words lately?
I think back. Three. Three times. Not as many as I would have guessed. Still. A lot of people have gone to a lot of trouble for me, and what have I done in return?
My stomach roils as I do as commanded.
“This is for your own good.” She binds my wrists and ankles.
I don’t protest. Considering everything Vans did to me, my silence is a huge deal.
She bustles here and there, gathering everything she needs before she comes up beside me. “Once the tracker has been removed, I’m going to take you to a safe house. Human, not Myriadian and not Troikan.”
Leave? “Does Killian know the address?” Does he know where to go if he returns and I’m gone?
“I told him. Well, I told the girl, Elena.”
Elena better not “forget” to tell him. Or betray me. Ugh. So much rides on a girl I don’t like!
“All right. Moment of truth.” With a flick of her wrist, Aunt Lina angles an oval-shaped glass over my forehead. “You might want to close your eyes for this.”
“No, I’m good.”
“Okay then.” A bright light clicks on, and oh, wow, in an instant my corneas feel as if they’ve been doused in bleach.
I close my eyes. Heat strokes me as she runs it over every inch of me.
“Let’s try this again.” This time, she stops at my left hipbone, where I’ve been burning since Levi shared his light with me. “Aha. Found you!”
The tracker, I’m guessing, and I guess I don’t really have to wonder who or why or how. Anytime I acted up—and a few times just for fun—Vans injected me with sedatives. Oh, and we can’t forget the handful of times he beat me unconscious. Pearl must have paid him.
A sense of betrayal and violation overwhelms me.
I hear a gurgle and figure Aunt Lina is slathering her hands with liquid latex. Once it dries, she rucks my dress to my chin and lifts a syringe filled with neon blue liquid. “This will numb you so I can make the necessary incisions.”
“If I’ll be numbed, why am I bound?”
“These types of devices cause a certain...mental reaction.” She rubs me with antiseptic. A sharp sting slowly fades as she injects me. “You can open your eyes now. The light is directed on the site, not your face.”
I watch as she picks up a scalpel and cuts into my hip with a steady hand. I watch, untouched by pain, as blood pours out of me. I missed the insertion, so there’s no way I’m missing the extraction.
She sprays something clear into the wound and the bleeding stops. With the glass in front of her—the light illuminating my hip—she picks up what looks to be a pair of tweezers and slips the tips inside my wound. Again, there’s no pain, but I do feel pressure.
Though her