“That’s—that’s good,” I said. My heart was still pounding from Nursery’s thing. I was pretty sure Blindside wasn’t around, because my senses weren’t being affected. “We’ll get this figured out.”

I wasn’t sure how. They had a shaker power to override Tempera and Fume Hood. Potentially Crystalclear and Longscratch as well, depending. They had Lord of Loss sequestering the outside and they had Nursery taking over the inside.

In the same moment I turned my thoughts to Snag and his disappearance, two mechanical arms stabbed out of the nearest wall as if the wall was paper. One hand caught me around the neck. The other across the face. I was slammed into the window, hard enough to shatter it and take out my forcefield. Glass tinkled onto my head, into my hair, and all around me.

Before I could get my bearings, he hauled me into the wall. My head cracked into the drywall and I felt it break with the impact. His hand gripped my mouth and the length of his long forearm caught me around the throat.

I put my hands on his arms, and I felt the whir as machinery kicked into life.

As someone with the ability to control emotions, I was supposed to be harder to read and affect. It was why I’d deflected Crystalclear earlier.

It was why Dean and I had gotten along. Even why we’d been possible.

Maybe that resistance came into play. Maybe it turned Snag’s power from an emotional uppercut to a mere slap. Negative emotions poured into me like liquid from a syringe.

But a slap on an open wound could be enough to bring someone to their knees. The walls came tumbling down, the memories flooding in, and my last coherent, present thought was that I hoped I wouldn’t maim or kill anyone in the meantime.

Daybreak 1.6

Snag’s power hurt, and it hurt in a way that had nothing to do with shedding blood or breaking bones. Emotion. My body still reacted, my heart rate picking up, breathing choked, adrenaline churning, hormones shifting. My thoughts were scattered, thrusting me into a state where I could either only reel or I could grope for a position in familiar ground.

I didn’t want familiar.

Reeling meant trying not to think, letting it wash over me and through me, and not letting my thoughts go where the feelings pointed. It meant I still had a metal gauntlet on my face and a metal arm pulled against my throat, and I was handling the situation with instinct. Fight or flight.

Fight—

No. I only barely stopped myself. I’d kill him if I fought.

Fly then.