Too late now. I hold the back of her neck, lest she starts squirming or suddenly becomes conscious, and push the inserter into her skin. She lets out a whimper but doesn’t otherwise stir. Not even when I press down on the trigger and the chip finds its new home. Satisfaction rages through me. I pull it out gently, then replace the bandage that’s been hiding Amanda’s nail marks. They’re healing well, though. Another one might escape Willow’s notice, and in a few days, they’ll all be healed enough that she won’t give them another thought. I check my phone again, and her blue dot shows up on the
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