My chains clink as I hit the ground and roll. They tangle around my knees, locking me in place as I scramble. I thought Lucius wanted me to win, but this dress seems designed for me to fail. I want me to fail, but magic unravels inside me, burning away the rational, moral part of me. I am an animal. I am pure instinct. I will survive. I make it up to my knees.

A boot connects with my collarbone. It snaps and heals, and the pain is there and gone before I can even register it. My basic instinct commands my magic. I shouldn’t be able to heal that fast, and I don’t know if I should let go of my last bit of control or try to regain it.

I snarl, on my back, belly-up like a beaten animal.

A hunter looms above me, and there is only kill or be killed.

His gun points at my face. He shifts its aim to my belly. “Natasha told me to make you bleed a lot, and I already know that you’re not so good at healing from stomach wounds. But you did better than I thought you would,” he gives me. “Thanks for making it fun.”

He’s pleased I’ve put up a little fight. He’s a true performer.

But the show’s not over.

My magic roars, and another little bar on its cage shatters. The pressure in my fingers grows until I’m panting. Ethan frowns. He might think I’m crying. I might be. But it’s only because there’s too much inside me, and something has to come out.

Control, I try to tell myself, but it’s too late. The magic bursts out of me before I can focus on what I want it to do, like it’s reading every thought in the deepest recesses of my mind and acting on it.

Ethan’s eyes widen. The gun in his hands begins to shake as his magic fights against mine.

It goes off.

Splinters from the shattered floor sting my cheek.

He doesn’t get another shot. The gun flies from his hands, soaring above the heads of the crowd. Their cheering matches the roar in my blood.

Ethan pulls at the gun in his other holster, but it won’t budge. His eyes narrow on me. He’s going to strangle me with his own two hands if he has to. And I don’t know if I can control him the same way I can control metal.

The push of my magic fades the tiniest bit, reading my doubt in it.

But it also helps me focus. I’m wearing metal.

Perhaps this dress wasn’t meant to be a curse at all. Lucius knows metal is easy for me to control. He dressed me in a weapon.