“What was that?” Nova yelled, reaching for the burning spot on her back. She felt something hard embedded into her skin. “Tracker,” said the guard in a bored voice, setting the gun to the side. “Prisoners used to try and escape. Now, we almost welcome it. They don’t get far with those, and it can liven things up around here for a day or two.” Nova shoved her arms through the sleeves and did up the buttons. “You could have warned me.” “Oh? And you would have just stood still and said, ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ when I was done? You’d be the first.”
