Page 15 of Nansar
Oh God.
"The tracker," I breathed, my hand flying to my left forearm. I pressed my fingers against the skin, feeling for the tiny bump beneath the surface. There. Still there. Of course it was still there. "Oh my God, the tracker."
Nansar's expression sharpened. "What tracker?"
"They implanted it before I left Earth." My voice came out thin, reedy. "In case something went wrong, in case I needed extraction—" The words tumbled faster now, horror dawning like a sick sunrise. "It's in my arm. It's been in my arm this whole time."
I looked up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Do you think—could they know about it? Could Hewes be tracking me right now?"
The silence that followed was answer enough.
Nansar's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. "Yes," he said, the single word heavy with certainty. "It's long been suspected Hewes has a spy within the Alliance."
"Fuck." I pressed my palm harder against my forearm, as if I could somehow crush the device through sheer force of will. "Fuck, fuck,fuck—"
I looked down at my arm again, at the innocent-looking patch of skin that concealed a beacon broadcasting my location to people who wanted me dead—or worse. My stomach churned.
"Can we remove it?" The question came out desperate, grasping.
Nansar's gaze dropped to my arm, his expression calculating. "Yes. I can cut it out." He paused, and something shifted in his eyes—a flicker of reluctance. "But it will be painful."
I saw it play out in my mind: Nansar's fingers pressing against my skin, holding my arm still. The heat of his touch. The weight of his grip. My body locked down, every muscle going rigid, and suddenly I wasn't here anymore. I was backthere, with hands that hurt instead of helped, with touch that took instead of gave.
No. No, I couldn't. Icouldn't.
"I'll do it myself," I said, the words coming out sharper than I intended.
Nansar's eyes met mine, and I braced for argument. For insistence that he could do it better, faster, with less damage. For the inevitable push against my boundaries that always came when men decided they knew what was best.
Instead, he simply nodded. "All right."
The acceptance—the lack of pressure—nearly undid me more than the thought of the tracker itself.
I pulled the small blade from my pocket, the one I'd taken from the escape pod. The metal caught the filtered light, winking like a promise. Or a threat. My hands were steadier than I expected as I unscrewed the cap from one of the water pouches and poured a stream over the blade, watching the liquid sheet across the metal and drip onto the purple moss below.
The tracker sat just beneath the skin of my left forearm, a few inches below the crook of my elbow. I could feel it when I pressed down—a small, hard lump no bigger than a grain of rice. Such a tiny thing to cause so much damage.
I pressed the tip of the blade against my skin.
The first cut was shallow, tentative. A thin line of red welled up, bright against my skin, but I hadn't gone deep enough. The tracker remained buried, mocking me.
"Deeper," Nansar said quietly. Not a command. Just information.
I gritted my teeth and pressed harder.
The pain was immediate and sharp. Blood flowed more freely now, warm and slick, coating my fingers and making the blade handle slippery. I had to adjust my grip, my jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack.
The blade scraped against something hard. The tracker.
A sound escaped me—half gasp, half whimper—and I hated myself for it. But God, ithurt. The pain radiated up my arm in waves, each pulse of my heartbeat sending fresh agonythrough the wound. My hand shook as I widened the incision, trying to expose enough of the tracker to get it out.
Blood ran down my arm in rivulets, dripping from my elbow onto the moss. The purple fibers darkened where the drops landed, drinking in the red like they were thirsty for it.
"Almost there," Nansar murmured. He'd moved closer—not touching, but near enough that I could feel his presence like a physical thing. Grounding me.
I dug the tip of the blade beneath the tracker and levered it up. The device resisted, embedded in muscle and tissue, and I had to bite back a scream as I worked it free. Fresh blood welled up, hot and thick, and for a moment I thought I might pass out from the pain.
Then it was loose.
