Chapter 21 #2
The hallway tilts. The term stretches out in front of me like a cliff edge, and every instinct I have is screaming the same thing: I’m running out of time.
If I don’t figure this out, if I fail — I don’t need anyone to spell out the consequences. The Council won’t just toss me aside; they’ll throw me into the world with nothing. No protection.
Just the thought of that separation rips through me—an ache so deep it borders on feral. My magic claws at my ribs, begging, panicking. Exile wouldn’t just be a punishment. It would break me.
My breath stutters. A cold, sharp certainty cuts through the panic.
If this goes wrong…I’m done.
Footsteps echo down the hallway—too close, too many. Voices overlap, laughter bouncing off the stone, and something inside me snaps tighter, like my ribs are closing in around my heart. I can’t fall apart here. Not in front of them.
I spin before I even realize I’m moving, one hand clamped over my mouth to trap the sound clawing its way up my throat. My eyes burn, hot and relentless, blurring the path ahead. I walk fast—too fast—letting the noise behind me push me forward, away, anywhere but here.
Down the stairs. Around a corner. Another. My breath keeps hitching, a broken stutter I can’t get control of.
A door hangs open at the end of a dim corridor. I slip inside and shut it behind me.
The room is small, lit by a single weak lamp. Shelves sag under the weight of dusty beakers; glass tubes and jars of ingredients clutter every counter. The air smells faintly of old herbs and something metallic.
Empty.
Blessedly, empty.
The door clicks shut behind me, sealing the world out. I try to stay standing—I do—but the strength in my legs drains too fast, like someone pulled the plug. My knees hit the cold tile, and the shock of it knocks a breath out of me.
The tears come before I can grit my teeth against them, hot and relentless. Pressing my palms to the floor, fingers shaking, I choke on breath that feels too jagged to be real.
I’ve worked so damn hard. I’ve done everything right. And somehow I’m still the universe’s favorite punchline—still the girl with no sin, no faction, no value. A burden waiting to be exiled. An extra piece in a puzzle that never wanted me.
“Of course,” I whisper, the word cracking. “Why would I ever be enough?”
A bitter laugh stutters out of me, wet and broken. I swipe at my cheeks, but more tears spill over. It’s like my body’s giving up before I’m ready to.
The worst part? Some small, poisonous part of me agrees with them. The Council. The whispers. The looks. Maybe I am nothing. Maybe I was a waste of space from the start, and the universe is just correcting the mistake.
My chest twists, tight enough to bruise. I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper just to stay quiet.
And then the hinges creak—someone pushes the door open behind me.
I freeze. Shit.
“Arwen?” I hear Maddox’s voice and the lights flick on. My stomach drops.
Double shit. Maddox is one of the last people I want to see me like this.
“What are you doing down here?” he asks, his voice concerned but firm.
I sniffle, wipe at my cheeks, and tilt my head like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Just taking a moment for myself. Do you, like, make a habit of crashing everyone else’s private little disasters?”
He tilts his head. “I do when they’re in my private lab.”
“What?” I snap, wiping at my face. I glance around. It makes sense. This is way too small to be a normal classroom.
“Why wasn’t it locked? How did you even know I was here?”
“Typically, I don’t have to worry about people prying in here. Still, I’ve got wards. They scream if someone steps out of line. You just set one off.” He says.
I huff. “Figures.”
He drops beside me, and for a beat, neither of us moves. Finally, he breaks the quiet. “So… what’s going on?”
I don’t look at him.
He leans back, fingers tapping against the floor. “Atticus?” His voice isn’t accusatory, just… cautious. “Did he… lose it on you or something? I heard—”
I snort, cutting him off. “No. Atticus Willshire could never make me cry. Please don’t make this more embarrassing than it already is.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Then what is it?”
I steal a quick look at him, then give in. My voice comes out tight, like I’m testing it. “You already know I’m… sinless. But—did you ever wonder why I even got to come here?”
He frowns. “No, but now you’ve got me curious. Why?”
I tell him about my trial and what the Council decided.
“If I don’t develop a sin power by the end of that time, I’m exiled. With nothing.” I finish.
Maddox doesn’t look surprised at the ruling—but I see the way his jaw tightens, his fists clench. “That’s… rough,” he mutters, voice low.
I swallow hard. “Yeah.”
“Which way did my dad vote?”
“He followed Pride’s vote almost immediately.” I respond.
His expression hardens. Guess that answers that question for him.
So he had no idea about his father or the council vote. That’s… kind of comforting.
“I’ve been throwing myself into my courses, giving everything I have in sin training classes, staying up nights researching ways to get my powers to show… nothing.”
We lapse into silence again, the only sound being the faint hum of magical wards around the room. Maddox reaches over and grabs my hand, a rare gesture of solidarity. I can’t help the faint shiver of relief it gives me. Feeling his warmth.
After a while, he exhales. “I might have an idea.”
I look at him, startled.
He looks at me with his signature serious expression. “Remember that potion I owed you for helping me with tutoring?”
I blink. “Yeah…”
“I might be able to mix something to nudge your powers out,” he says, voice steady, precise. “But don’t get your hopes up too high. I’ve never heard of a potion like this. I don’t know if it’ll do anything. And even if it does… it’ll take time to make.”
I gasp, staring at him. “You… you would really try that for me?”
He leans back, expression unreadable. “If anyone can, it’s me. I’ve been working with rare potions longer than most advanced alchemists. I’ll give it everything I’ve got. That’s all I can promise.”
I swallow hard, feeling a surge of gratitude. This is… unlike him. Tough as steel, ruthless in every other part of life, and yet he’s here, offering me a lifeline. I can’t refuse. I throw my arms around him and hug him. “Thank you.”
He stiffens, letting me hold him but not returning the gesture, just standing there like the rock he is. “Don’t thank me yet,” he mutters, voice rough. “We’ll see if it works.”
I pull back, still holding onto his forearm. “Still… thank you, Maddox.”