30Yulia
I wake up groggy and confused, hurting from head to toe. Groaning, I stumble out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. Still half-asleep, I take care of business, and it’s only when I’m washing my face that it dawns on me that I’m alone—and untied.
A soreness at the back of my neck reminds me of the reason for that: the tracker implants. Lucas must be certain I won’t be able to run away again.
I lift my hand and touch the bandage on my nape, then turn to peer at my back in the mirror. Besides the spot I’m touching—and amidst a mottled canvas of bruises—there are two more areas where the trackers went in. The bandages on the wounds are simple Band-Aids now; Lucas must’ve changed them while I was sleeping. I vaguely recall the doctor giving instructions about that.
I also remem
