“Since our first time will be my first time ever,” I say, my cheeks beginning to burn, “I agree the car isn’t the best choice.”

He presses his forehead against mine. “You’re just making things harder for me. And I mean that in multiple ways.”

I snort-laugh, killing the illusion I’m cool about the subject, and return to my seat. The pressure to make a decision has never been stronger. I’ll save Killian, or I’ll save a realm. But I’m beginning to suspect I finally know the right path for me.

Chapter twenty-three

“Fight for us, and we’ll fight for you. Fight against us and you’ll lose.”

—Myriad

Lina is waiting for me at the door of her house, a small but well-kept bungalow with white shutters and blue trim. Quaint and utterly perfect. As a little girl, I sometimes dreamed of living here. Uncle Tim, her husband, allowed Lina and me to put bows in his hair and paint his nails.

Of course, Uncle Tim eventually ran off with another woman, divorcing Lina and her crazy ways.

Porch light shines over her, illuminating dark hair and a pretty face aged by worry. This is Aunt Lina!

Killian puts the car in Park and latches on to my hand before I can jump out. “I got you a present.” He reaches into the glove box, withdraws two leather wrist cuffs. “I know how much you loved your old pair.”

“Killian! Thank you!” Grinning, I hug them before snapping them in place. “I did love them.”

“That smile... I swear it’s going to haunt me for eternity.” He sighs. “I’m not going in with you. I have to destroy the car.”

I don’t like the thought of being without him, even for a second, but I nod. There’s no time to waste.

“I’ll miss you,” he says, and there’s something about his tone. An emotion I’ve never heard him use before. “Will you miss me?”

“Very much.” I lean over and press a hard, demanding kiss onto his lips, tasting him one more time, letting him taste me. “Hurry back.”

When I pull back, his hand snakes around the back of my neck to hold me captive. “The things I feel for you come without conditions, too.”

I give him a dreamy smile before hustling outside. The cool of the night embraces me as I run toward the woman I’ve missed more than air. Tears burn the backs of my eyes 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 wrist is steady, the tool moves. A slight motorized buzz that fills my ears.

“Get ready,” she says. “I’ve almost got—”

Click.

The muscles in my abdomen clench, and I cramp, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.

The sound of the motor intensifies as Aunt Lina leans over to grab a pair of surgical scissors with her free hand. The moment she makes the first snip, a cool flood sweeps through me. An avalanche that gains speed and power as it moves, before finally stopping inside my mind.