Gianna.
It’s been three days since I left home.
Three long, torturous days.
On the first night, I thought I’d die. My body burned like someone had poured fire into my veins, my skin prickling, my heart thudding in agony as the mark pulsed beneath my collarbone. I had to tie a gag around my mouth just to stop myself from screaming loud enough for Rue to wake and panic.
The second night wasn’t better. Every breath hurt. My body craved something—no, someone—and I hated myself for knowing exactly who that someone was. By the third day, the heat finally started to fade, leaving me weak, sore, and angry. Angry that Ivan had done this to me. Angry that he had branded me with something I didn’t ask for.
Tonight, though, I felt… lighter. My body had stopped trembling. My skin no longer burned
