Wet.
Moving.
Rosalie’s fear disappeared beneath instinct.
She boiled water, found alcohol, placed a porcelain bowl on the table, and retrieved her sewing tweezers.
Gideon caught her wrist before she could begin.
He wrote one word.
*Dangerous.*
Rosalie took the pencil from him.
*More dangerous if it stays. Do you trust me?*
For a long moment, Gideon stared at her.
Then he nodded.
Rosalie carefully inserted the tweezers.
Metal touched something firm.
Gideon’s fingers tightened around the table.
Her Father Sold Her to a Deaf Rancher for $50—On the Eighth Night, She Saw Something Moving Inside His Ear
