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.
