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 howimpressive 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.
