The room falls into silence, every torch flicker casting more shadows over their stone faces.
“Girl,” Councilor Willshire says, voice sharp, dismissive. He doesn’t even use my name. My jaw tightens.
“Have you manifested your powers in the time that you’ve been here at the academy?”
I swallow the nervous lump in my throat and step forward, voice steady but charged with the force I can muster. “No. But I have prepared something I would like to say in my defense.”
“That is not part of the process—” Willshire begins, but Dean Bellows interrupts him, commanding the room with a tone that even the Councilors hesitate to challenge.
“Let her speak,” Bellows says.
My pulse spikes. I take a deep breath, planting my feet in the stone circle. For the first time, I let myself feel that flicker of strength I’ve been denying. Today, no one — not even the Council — will define me.
I clear my throat, letting the weight of the silence press against my words. “I may not have manifested a sin power… yet.” I say, and I watch the Councilors shift, some in annoyance, some in intrigue. “But I have learned. I have fought. I have grown. And I am here because I deserve to be—not because of power, but because of who I am.”
The torches flicker, and for a moment, the shadows seem to lean closer, listening.
I take another breath, steadying myself against the weight of their stares.
“When I came here, I believed I was nothing. I believed what everyone told me—that I had no worth because I was without a sin power. I thought the only thing I could do was try not to take up space.”
My throat tightens, but I push through, lifting my chin. “But I’ve learned I was wrong. I have value—not because of what I lack, but becauseof what I bring.”
Some Councilors exchange looks, uninterested, already writing me off. Others lean forward, as if they can’t help but listen. I let their silence feed me.
“I’ve learned strategy. Discipline. How to stand my ground against people stronger than me. I can hold my own in a fight, even without powers. I'm at the top of my classes. But I’ve also learned loyalty, and sacrifice, and the difference between surviving and truly living. I’ve learned I can protect others—not with a power, but with my choices. With my courage.”
My voice wavers only once, but I don’t let it crack. “I’ve learned who I am. And that person is worthy of standing here, of being part of this academy. With or without a sin.”
The words fall into the heavy quiet. My chest burns with the effort it took to say them, but I refuse to drop my gaze.
Councilor Willshire lets the silence linger for too long, his lips curving into a condescending grin. He leans forward, voice dripping with mockery.
“I’m sure you thought your speech was moving,” he says. “But we don’t allow just anyone into the academy. And without power, you cannot contribute to your faction. Nobody has a use for you. Nobody here is going to speak for you.”
I feel the air shift before I even see it happen. Atticus steps forward, his voice steady, cutting through the chamber like a blade.
“I will speak for her.”
***
Maddox
I called an all-hands meeting as I stormed through the halls. Every member of my gang is on edge the moment they see me. They know something’s burning; they know the steel in my voice means business. I lay it out: Our territory in Feastwell is under threat, Raven’s taken the club, and if we don’t act, we could lose it. Every move counts, every second.
They’re ready to go before I even finish giving orders, my plans already forming in their heads. I see the loyalty in their eyes, the unquestioning obedience that keeps this empire afloat. And yet… my mind keeps drifting.To her.That defiant, impossible girl. The one who doesn’t even know how much danger she’s in—or how much power she holds as a threat to the Council.
I tell my crew to suit up, coordinate, and meet me at the rendezvous. Everyone nods, ready to reclaim what’s mine. We head out to the airbase at the academy. It’s full today thanks to Councilors all being here. I’m about to step into our helicopter with them when something stops me.
It’s her. Arwen. Or rather, it’s what I feel in my chest for her. The thought of her in danger while I’m Factions away, while my men handle the politics, while I play the game my father loves so much—it’s unbearable.
I take a sharp breath, slow it, weigh the consequences. The gang, the territory, the power—all of it can wait. She can’t. My decision snaps like a bone.
I won’t let her be collateral in my father’s chess game. Not today.
I text the crew with a simple message. “Handle Feastwell.”
I don’t need to explain. They know better than to question me.
