The ropes dissolved into red mist, falling away from her wrists like they'd never existed at all. The chair dropped from beneath her with a hollow scrape against concrete, and Wanda Maximoff rose—not pushing up, not stumbling forward, not testing her freed hands. She simply rose, the air around her thickening with the scent of ozone and old magic.
Selina's hand went to her whip. Harley's breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. Felicia's claws extended half an inch before she stopped herself.
Wanda didn't raise a hand. She didn't need to. The red mist curled from her shoulders like smoke finding its current, threading through the space between them with the patience of something that had been waiting a long time. One tendril found Selina's throat—not squeezing, not choking, just resting there like a collar made of light. Selina's jaw tightened, but she didn't reach up to brush it away.
"Interesting," Felicia murmured, her green eyes tracking the mist as a second tendril hooked beneath Harley's chin, tilting her face up like a flower searching for sun. Harley's lips parted. Her tongue touched her top lip. She looked delighted.
The third tendril slid down Felicia's spine, slow and deliberate, tracing each vertebra through the black leather until her back arched in a curve that was half surprise, half invitation. Felicia's breath went sharp through her nose. She didn't move away.
Wanda stepped forward. Her bare feet found the cold concrete, the dampness of the vault floor seeping into her skin, grounding her in the weight of her own body. She was still half-naked, her suit torn down to her hips, her breasts bare, her skin flushed from everything they'd done to her. She didn't bother covering herself. That body had been theirs. Now it was hers again.
She walked between them, and the red mist parted to let her through.
Her fingers found Harley's hair first—the coarse dye of the pigtails, the softness beneath where the roots grew dark. Harley leaned into the touch like a cat, her eyes fluttering half-closed, a low sound humming in her throat. "Oh," Harley breathed. "Oh, I like this even more."
Wanda didn't answer. Her hand moved from Harley's hair to Selina's cheek, tracing the sharp line of bone, the slight give of skin, the warmth beneath. Selina stood very still, her green eyes fixed on Wanda's face, reading her like a schematic. The red mist around her throat pulsed once, a heartbeat of color, and Selina's lips parted—not in fear. In acknowledgment.
Then Wanda's fingers found Felicia's mouth. Felicia's lips were already parted, waiting, and when Wanda's thumb pressed against the lower one, she didn't pull away. She let it rest there, her breath warm against Wanda's skin, her eyes half-lidded and amused.
"You taste like magic," Felicia whispered against her thumb. "I wondered what that would be like."
Wanda smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was the smile of someone who had been tied, touched, broken open, and was now putting herself back together in a shape that didn't fit any of their hands.
"You had your turn," she said, her voice low and rough, the words scraping against her throat like they'd been waiting there since the first rope touched her skin. "All three of you. You had your turn, and you played your games, and you made me laugh until I couldn't breathe and scream until I couldn't think."
She stepped closer to Selina, the red mist tightening just slightly around her throat—not enough to hurt. Enough to remind.
"And now I want mine."
Selina's eyes flickered. Her hand left the whip. She didn't lower it—she let it fall, her fingers going slack, her whole body dropping into stillness. Waiting. Watching.
Harley made a small sound, a whimper or a laugh or both, her body leaning toward Wanda like gravity had shifted. "What's the prize, Red? What do you want?"
Wanda looked at each of them in turn. The red mist around Felicia's spine tightened, pulling her forward one step, then another, until she stood at Wanda's left. The tendril under Harley's chin guided her to the right, her boots scuffing against concrete, her smile wide and hungry. Selina was the last—the mist around her throat tugged once, gentle but firm, and she stepped forward to stand at Wanda's center.
Wanda looked at them, three women who had taken her apart, now waiting for her signal.
"I want to try," she said, and the red mist flared bright around them all, painting the vault walls in crimson light. "I want to see what happens when the thing you caught decides she likes the game more than you do."
The room held its breath. Harley's fingers twitched. Felicia's tongue touched her lip. Selina's eyes never left Wanda's face.
And Wanda smiled—slow, deliberate, the smile of a woman who had been broken and was now deciding what to build from the pieces.