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I lean against him, drunk, and drugged, and happy. Feeling the solid wall of his chest behind me. His arms wrap around my waist, holding me steady. His fingers trace the edge of the letters on my skin, following Chains' work.
Then he pulls the shirt back down, hiding his claim. Because everyone knows who I am now.
His.
"How's it feel?" Legion whispers, his lips against my ear.
I don't know how to answer. How does it feel to be branded as someone's property? How does it feel to have thrown away everything I was raised to be, everything my mother built, for this man and this moment?
It feels like freedom.
It feels like falling.
It feels like the first honest thing I've done in years.
