He always knew where I was because he had always, literally, known where I was.

I sat on the cold tile floor of that bathroom for a full minute, the little tag in my palm, and felt five years rearrange themselves behind me into a shape I hadn’t been allowed to see while I was inside it.

Then I made myself breathe.

I threaded a needle from the same kit and stitched the tracker back exactly where I’d found it.

If Devon realized I knew, he would simply change his method.

As long as he believed I was still blind, I had the one thing he’d spent five years making sure I never had: an advantage.