Chapter 13 Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Sin Power #2
The professor drones on. Daphne and Camille both swoon… as do all the females in the class.
Standing off to the side, arms crossed, posture rigid but calm. He’s watching the class with the same unreadable expression he wears everywhere, but when our eyes meet—for a second—there’s something else there. Recognition.
He doesn’t look surprised to see me in this class at all.
Of course, he knew I’d be here. His father probably demanded the Dean send him my whole schedule.
Still… he doesn’t acknowledge me. Doesn’t nod. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t blink.
Just turns back toward the instructor like I’m no one.
And yet, every so often, I feel his eyes on me. It’s always when no one else is watching. Like he’s taking notes.
The class begins with a student—Ryo, I think his name is—demonstrating what the professor calls “perception manipulation.” He steps into the center of the ring, and suddenly he isn’t just Ryo.
He’s taller. His voice resonates. His smile pulls everyone’s attention like gravity, and for a second, I want to believe every word he says—even though he isn’t speaking.
I look around after and no one else seems to be affected. I remember hearing a rumor about Pride citizens being taught mental shields from a young age.
Then Camille goes. Her sin power seems to be involved with manipulating objects with her mind.
Of course, the mean girl gets a cool power. Thanks a lot, universe!
I continue watching as she conjures an enormous, opalescent serpent out of the pillars that line the walls. It coils around her and then shrinks to fit her like a crown. It hisses once, and the illusion disappears and snaps back into being columns along the walls.
Apparently, she doesn’t have a high-power rating if she can’t hold it that long...
Maybe the universe is learning to be just.
She rolls her eyes and sits back down as several students giggle.
Daphne shows off her “pride-induced illusions”—warping the air into a shimmering false reality where she appears in a jeweled extravagant throne room, like some divine queen flanked by roaring crowds that cheer her name. The illusions are so convincing I can almost hear the applause.
I hate how impressive it all is.
They aren’t just flashy. They're terrifying. Strategic. Dangerous in a way Wrath wouldn’t be prepared for in battle.
Pride doesn’t need fists. They fight with presence.
With manipulation. With control. I note that none of their practice seems to have anything to do with fighting.
More like the art of manipulation and shielding of that manipulation.
By the end of the class, I feel like I’ve been mentally sucker-punched.
The instructor dismisses the students with a wave of his jeweled hand. He still hasn’t said a single word to me. No guidance. No welcome. Nothing.
I stand to leave, hoping to vanish before Camille or Daphne start Round Two, but my eyes flick to Atticus once more. He’s still watching.
Still unreadable.
Still… there. My bond pulls hard, begging me to walk closer to its other half, but I resist.
Outside, the air in the hallway is warm. I walk fast, needing space, despite my bond’s tug in my chest begging me to turn right around and go back into the classroom.
I felt nothing today. No spark. No tingle. Not even a flicker of sin power trying to claw its way out of me.
But I do feel relieved.
Because if I had manifested a Pride power… I’d be trapped in that golden cage forever. With mirrors and masks and smiling knives. With people who build kingdoms just to stand on top of the people inside them.
Pride is power. But it’s the kind that eats you alive from the inside.
And I am not made for that.
Not even a little.
***
I zone out after completing my pop quiz in Faction Politics and Strategy.
After a few weeks, I somehow haven’t been tossed out of the academy on my sinless butt, so we’ll call that progress.
I continue my rotation of general studies in the mornings—a bunch of old Council-approved historians (and one panty-dropping hot professor) droning on about factions, diplomatic breakdowns, and all the "noble" reasons everyone’s been stabbing each other in the back for centuries. And how we can continue doing so.
In my afternoons, I continue to rotate through the sin power classes.
My power still hasn’t shown up—I’m still in a timeout with the universe, apparently—but I’m trying to stay zen about it. There’s still time. But watching everyone else flex their fancy sin tricks while I take notes like a glorified intern? Not working for me.
Greed’s class is straight-up nightmare fuel.
They can clone themselves, steal other people’s powers, and open literal pocket dimensions.
Like Pride, it’s focused on manipulative power plays versus actual combat.
It's not a class so much as a live horror show mixed with a crash course in economics and business. I can’t even follow what they are talking about most of the time.
Lust? Whew. That one's a front-row seat to a slow, sensual identity crisis. They shift their appearances, drip seduction from every pore, and wield persuasion like a knife. It's... a lot. Let’s just say I’ve become very skilled at staring at the wall and pretending I'm fascinated by floor tiles.
Gluttony was a curveball. Half power training, half potions lab.
Tonics, elixirs, weird glittery vials that shouldn’t melt the floor like I witnessed.
I've developed a strict “no unsolicited beverages” policy. But hey, Cleo and Tabby are in that class, so it’s not all bad.
They make it bearable, even if Tabby almost blew off Cleo’s eyebrows last week. Good times.
Sloth is like an academic retreat. Runes, light enchantments, ancient artifacts. No explosions, no drama. Just cozy vibes and the occasional cursed object. They’re not allowed to use their full power because tapping into it makes you a public enemy, so I’ve been told..
Envy’s class is... yeah, I have no idea.
The room is a crypt—dark, full of shadows, set up like a haunted chessboard.
There’s whispering, slinking, strategic movement—but I can’t see anything.
I just sit there, absorbing nothing, learning less, and hoping no one sneaks up behind me. I think that’s the goal. Paranoia.
When I’m not in class, I spend time with the few people here who don’t make me want to launch myself right off the cliffs back home. Holly trains with me on the weekends, which is the highlight of my week since I miss out on those classes. It keeps me grounded. Focused. Prepared.
And then there’s... the bonds. Or the lack thereof.
The stupid, pulsing tug in my chest that refuses to leave me alone. Like a magical tracking device for heartbreak. I don’t know if they feel it too. If they do, they're either world-class actors or just super committed to ghosting me.
Professor Gabriel, aka Mr. Sloth my looks are not what keeps me around,” he says in a dangerous tone, but I can see the small smirk he’s trying to hide. I’m slowly melting this bad boy exterior. Maybe if I can make him laugh, he won’t off me in my sleep.
The bell rings, and I head out the door after dropping off our quizzes. Suddenly, a strong hand covered in tattoos grabs my arm, and I turn around to find Maddox has caught up to me.
“Hey, little Wrath, you got plans later?”
“Yeah…” I reply, not sure where this is going. Maddox never speaks to me outside of class. “Class. Dinner. Homework. Sleep. Really riveting stuff.”
He leans against a column in the middle of the hall like he owns the building—blocking the people who were walking right behind us and making them move around. “You ever think about penciling in ‘study with Maddox’ somewhere in that thrilling itinerary?”
I narrow my eyes. “Is that a proposition or a trap?”
He smirks, and it’s not fair that he looks that good doing it. “Neither. Just a simple offer. I’m not doing too hot in this class. As silly as it seems, I still need to graduate from SinVail.”
“Shocking,” I deadpan. “Sarcasm and murder don’t translate well to diplomacy?”