The arm restricting him was an unwelcome thing, but it could have been worse. August paused, thinking.
"Blood? Wait, what--" Then the memories started to trickle back in. The bathroom, the razor. How he'd become so sure about removing the tracking device, and how it had seemed so simple. His brow knit in confusion and worry, and he looked back up to Cecilia.
"My neck hurts; did I...I'm not going to die, am I?" His voice grew more and more panicked with each syllable.