Chapter 37 Thou Shalt Not Feed the Sinless
Thou Shalt Not Feed the Sinless
Arwen
The vibration of my phone tears me from sleep. Sharp. Insistent. My fingers fumble against the smooth glass. A single email waits. From Dean Bellows.
Please come by my office before breakfast.
No greeting. No niceties. Just the cold weight of authority in black and white.
My stomach twists. Finals are close, which means the Councilors are coming. My trial is imminent, the one I still feel wholly unprepared for.
Boots, hair hastily twisted into a knot, jacket half-zipped. I move through dorm halls as the building murmurs in sleep; the walls pressing quiet and heavy around me.
I think of the past weeks—Atticus at my side. Watching him train the edges of his power without crossing the line into will control. Sweat streaked his hair, fingers trembled, eyes dark with effort.
He swears he won’t force actual control on a person without reason. That he hates the idea. He surprises me. People still look at us with obvious question but it’s like he pushes his Pride nature to the side. He’s only focused on helping me.
Hope, and care, coming from someone I didn’t know I deserved.
***
Dean Bellows’ office smells of paper, polished wood, faint citrus, and faint impatience. Her eyes lift as I knock.
“Arwen,” she says. Waiting. Expecting.
I sit. Silent.
“I assume,” she cuts straight, “you would have told me if you’d manifested.”
A dry laugh escapes, a contrast to the mood in this office. “You’d have been the first to know. I don’t have a death wish, contrary to popular belief.”
No smile.
“The Councilors arrive tomorrow,” she says. “They will hold your trial and ask for a test of sin power. They see no point in finals if you cannot demonstrate power.”
Tomorrow. My brain stalls. The semester had been a fragile ledge, a thread of hope. I was supposed to have two more weeks left… time to practice, time with friends, time to breathe.
“It’s not open to negotiation,” she says, sighing.
“Apologies, Arwen. I’ve seen your scores in class. I know that you’ve been trying. Unfortunately, my hands are tied. You should take the day to prepare yourself. I’ll excuse you from classes.”
I nod. Words feel foreign, trapped somewhere between breath and thought.
“And, Arwen…” I turn to look at her as my hand reaches the doorknob.
“…you may want to say your goodbyes.”
Goodbyes. The word constricts my chest, narrows my vision.
***
I stumble down the hall, lost in thought. Don’t see him until my shoulder crashes into solid muscle.
Maddox.
Leaning against the wall, hands shoved into pockets, shoulders broad, eyes pinning me with dark fire. He looks annoyed. Maybe more than annoyed.
“Maddox,” I say. “I haven’t seen you around. Could we talk for a moment?”
He gestures down a hall. “Classroom. Now.”
The door closes behind us, chalk dust drifting like the ghosts of lessons past. He leans against a desk, arms crossed, expression taut. Nothing soft. Nothing forgiving.
“You’ve been distant,” I try. “In class… I thought maybe—”
“Family politics,” he interrupts, voice low, clipped. “Too many games.” His gaze drills into mine. “I don’t have time to fix your mood too.”
It hits. His absence, the silence—his world is chaos. Mine is chaos. But his presence is chaos too.
“I wanted to say goodbye,” I admit. “They’re testing me tomorrow. I wanted to thank you. For the potion, for…everything you’ve tried to do for me.”
His head snaps back. The dark in his eyes swells. “That’s it?” A knife. “That’s your goodbye?”
“I…yes? I—”
“You don’t see it, do you?” His voice drops, low and dangerous. His face shifts; anger blooms, raw and hot.
“You know what your problem is, Arwen? You use people like tools, and it’s like you don’t even notice.
You don’t realize the impact you have because you see yourself as worthless.
You think you can’t hurt anyone, that your actions don’t matter.
But they do. You cut just as deep as any blade, even without a sin power. ”
I stumble for words. Nothing is enough.
“I’m done,” he says, and walks out. The door clicks like a verdict.
Alone, I feel the echo of his words thrum in my chest.
Fumbling, I text the group:
Can we meet at my dorm before breakfast? Please. It’s important.
When I arrive, they’re already there. All of them.
Holly’s jaw tight, eyes snapping up to me. Cleo on the desk, fingers drumming, already calculating how to fix what I’m going to tell them. Tabby sprawled across my bed, hair wild, grin teasing, like she thinks drama is a party. Sly and Brix hover in the doorway, awkward, guilty.
My chest constricts at the sight. All of them. Here. For me.
“They’re coming tomorrow,” I whisper. “The Councilors. It’s time for the test.”
The room goes still.
I take a shaky breath. “Before you say anything, I want to thank you. For everything. For the ridiculous plans, the laughter, the help, even if it all feels… meaningless. I came to this academy expecting to be treated like a plague. I never expected to find people—five people—who would become my best friends. People who would let a sinless, worthless girl into the fold.”
Holly crosses the room before I can finish and grabs my shoulders, her hands solid and grounding.
“Stop. Enough. Quit talking like that. Do you really think we’d help if we thought you were worthless?
Honestly, Arwen, the most frustrating thing about you is this belief.
I wouldn’t be surprised if that core belief has been holding you back this entire time.
Never once have you been worthless. There is more to a person than just their power, but you act like it’s the only thing that defines you. "
I'm stunned into silence as she shakes her head and continues. "Tell me, would you still be my friend if I lost my powers?”
“Of…Of course!” I say thrown off guard at this turn in conversation. “But that’s totally…”
Cleo steps down from the desk, tugging my sleeve. “No ‘buts’ Arwen. You are worthy. Fierce. Loyal. Smart. A great friend. You care about people, and you’ve never let us down.”
“You are also an amazing warrior,” Holly jumps back in. “Even if it’s because you had the most badass mentor.” Everyone laughs.
Tabby flicks my hair, playful, but her eyes are steady. “You think losing powers would lose me? I like you for everything else. Your sarcasm, your stubbornness, your legs… the total package.”
Sly smirks. “You get back up after being knocked down. Every time. That’s more than many people manage.”
Holly’s voice rises, commanding and tender at once. “You are a fucking force. You deserve to be here because of your tenacity, not a power score. You make people better. That’s why you belong.”
Brix steps forward, quiet, almost hesitant. “You’re not nothing. Not to me. Not ever.”
I press into them, into the warmth as they stand up and rally around me in hugs and whispers of motivation. The words land with a force I didn’t expect. There’s pressure behind them that feels like a lighthouse in a storm. I press into their arms as the knot in my chest loosens.
Tears slip free, not sharp, not bitter, but wet and warm. It doesn’t feel like a betrayal to my faction to cry. It feels strong, like I’m owning my emotions. I feel the truth pressing in from every side. Their voices—they’re all louder than any Councilor’s judgment.
Every whispered, shout, clipped affirmation builds like pillars in my chest. My worth is not a number on a test. Not a power manifested or denied. It’s every night spent studying, every time I asked for help, every laugh, every small act that mattered.
The truth unfolds slowly, roots growing through rock. Not sudden confidence. Not a flash. But steady. Real. Persistent.
I whisper, almost to myself: “You all… You feel this way?”
Cleo’s smile is peaceful and steady. “We know it.”
Holly grins, teeth flashing, fire in her eyes.
“We chose you. Repeatedly. You belong, Arwen Davies. Not because of a sin, but because of you. Because you stand. You fight. You make the world better just by being in it. I know you see it. I’ve watched your confidence in yourself grow every day.
You just need to realize it’s okay to admit it, and to love yourself for who you are. ”
The laugh that escapes me is small, wet, and real.
Tears sting. They pile onto me like a heap of people who won’t let go.
In the press of it, I realized my measuring stick all these years was wrong.
My worth isn’t about powers or lineage or even what the Council decrees.
It’s about care. Love. Impact. Presence.
. Those things can’t be quantified on a test.
An idea clicks in my head. The hardest person to convince of my worth has been myself. If I could break through that, maybe I can break through the council’s assumptions as well.
And if I wake up tomorrow and the universe still insists I’m nothing? Then I’ll be nothing with people who still think I’m something.