Page 89 of Break Out the Girl

No.

A fierce, white-hot fury ignites deep inside me, so deep it feels like it’s in a part of my body I never knew existed.

They need help.

For seventeen years, my life has been defined by walls. Caged at Drakeward Manor. Locked in the Quo cells. Kept weak, untrained, and helpless by design. I am so fucking done with being the princess who needs a shield.

Let me be the weapon.

The final fuse hits the powder keg.

An explosion of pure, blinding heat erupts from my core. My heart stumbles.

And stumbles, and stumbles.

Wump-ppp.

Fuck, don’t fail me now. I can feel it.

I can feel the fucking ability to shift.

Wump-ppp.

Wump-ppp.

Wump-ppp.

And then.

It’s almost like the dead tissue, that stupid patchy fibrosis, morphs into something else. Something not exactly human.

The cold, scarred muscle in my chest thaws, expanding into a living reservoir of raw energy. My lungs don't burn for oxygen anymore—they drink in the storm. Every single cell in my body is unspooling, dissolving, then reassembling.

The final lock breaks, flooding every single vein with a rushing, roaring torrent of innate power.

My blood isn't liquid anymore; it's static and starlight. I can feel my bones and organs turn into pure, weightless light.

No disgusting crack of my spine. No agonizing stretching of flesh.

Just fucking beautiful light.

I’m on my knees.

On my knees in the mud and rain.

Basil pushes me away. “Holy shit.”

I look up to see him throwing an arm over his face, shielding himself. “Rory, your eyes! Your skin!”

I try to stand, but the solid earth ceases to be of interest to my body.

Mother.

Fucker.

I’m floating.

A translucent, diaphanous, shimmering shroud wraps around me as my bones turn weightless, hollow. I don’t understand what I am, but whatever it is?