With one hard upward pull, Chloe grabbed the thick wool collar of my sweater. She pulled it over my head.

The coarse fabric scraped painfully against my sensitive skin, catching momentarily on the raised ridges of my burn scars before it was pulled free and thrown into the shimmering blue water of the pool.

The sudden exposure to the blazing July sun felt like a ghost of the old fire racing across my chest. But that physical pain and exposure was nothing compared to the single shocked gasp that ripped through the massive crowd of guests.

There I stood, without my armor, wearing nothing but a thin, dark bikini top. The twisted pattern of purple, red, and silver scar tissue that crawled across my ribs, collarbone, and stomach was exposed in the bright daylight.

It was a uneven mixture of grafted skin and jagged, unnatural lines. Some of the teenagers immediately slapped their hands over their mouths. Others recoiled, taking involuntary steps backward in shock.