Manipulation. It may as well be synonymous with “illusion.” Everything has been one big magic trick, and I was fool enough to believe I was one of the magicians when I was nothing more than a bird in a rigged cage, sitting passively as a bloodred silk cloth is draped over the cage, oblivious up until the moment the magician’s hand slaps down on it, collapsing it and flattening the bird between the bars. Oh look, the magician seems to say. The cage has disappeared. The audience claps, of course. Ignorant of the broken bones, the wasted life, all for the sake of them slamming their hands together. The cage, made for the illusion, will be fine. The bird is trash. There’s always another bird.

I am a bird. I always have been. Foster kids are a dime a dozen. If you don’t like one, toss it out in favor of another. Damaged people are too.

But I’m not crushed yet.

And tricks go wrong all the time.

I fold my hands into fists and wince from the wounds but keep them clenched anyway.

“Did you know that Lucius is my father?”

The pure shock on Roman’s face unwinds at least one knot inside me. I don’t know if I could take it if he had kept that horrible truth from me too.

“Lucius… how?” He can’t seem to form words around the thought.

“Before they were immortal.”

“And Lucius knows?”

I nod.

Roman’s voice drops to a hopeful whisper. “And will he make sure you win?”

“He knew when he blocked you and Xander from healing me, so… no.”

Roman’s face darkens. “Does he want you dead, then?”

“He said blocking you from healing me was what he would have done to anyone. I think he wants me to win, but I don’t think he’ll help. But he doesn’t want me to win for me. He just wants to use me if I prove that I can control my power.” I didn’t expect it to hurt so much to say it out loud.

“That’s all we can ask for with him.” Roman scans the hallway and looks back at me. “We should really go before someone sees us.”

He doesn’t say what I know he must be thinking. I will look weak if someone sees me. Vulnerable. It’s something I cannot afford. Especially not now.

Roman offers me a bloody hand, and I take it in mine. Our hands are slick against each other. It seems too intimate. Too symbolic. Even if Roman is something more than a friend now.

But he’s still a magician outside of the cage. My cage. It should make no difference whether or not he’s the one doing the trick.

“I can make my own way back.” I let go of his hand and ball my fists into my ruined dress.