Chapter 13 · Stripped to the Skin

The chip was under my tongue when the first lock beeped.

Three locks. Thumb, retina, code. I had maybe four seconds.

I'd been holding it like a lozenge for ten minutes. A sliver of black plastic no bigger than a fingernail. It had Mia's whole way out on it: a forged passport, a car at a service dock, a seat on a flight out of Boston. The laundry girl had sewn it into a hem. She'd looked at me like she was handing over her own execution date.

The second lock clicked.

I swallowed.

It stuck. Dry throat, sharp edge, and it just sat there at the back of my tongue like a pill I couldn't force down.

The door opened.

Lucian stood there in a black shirt, sleeves shoved to the elbow, rain still on his shoulders. He didn't say hello. He looked at my face, then at my throat, and then he looked at my mouth.

He knew.

"Open."

"Excuse me?"

"Bianca." Quiet. That was worse than yelling. "Open your mouth."

I backed up. The vanity hit the back of my thighs and a perfume bottle toppled over.