“Originally, they said if I can’t manifest my sin power, I’m out. I know that. But… maybe I can still convince them to let me stay here, even if I don’t manifest a sin. So, I’ve been lining up allies.”
“Ryker,” Holly says.
I hesitate. “He said he might be able to help. And… we’ve gotten closer as friends. I think he’d stand in my corner.”
“Friends,” Tabby echoes with a smirk. “Friends who leave flowers.”
Brix’s fist digs into the grass beside him, knuckles whitening.
I push past the heat in my cheeks. “I’ve also been tutoring Maddox again.”
Sly lets out a whistle. “Bold move, cozying up to the mafia heir.”
Cleo jerks upright, her smile gone. “What?”
“I’m sorry, Cleo.” My voice softens. “I avoided him for so long because of what happened in your city. But he wasn’t involved. And… he could be more useful than we thought. He’s agreed to help me try a potion that might bring out my powers.”
Cleo uncrosses her arms, eyes softening. “I’m not upset, Arwen. I just worry. Are you sure you can trust him?”
“Not fully,” I admit. “But I trust his skill. And right now, I need every chance I can get. He also may advocate for me with his father, although they don’t seem super close.”
Tabby hums. “A potion. Risky.”
“Maybe. But it’s something. And…” I pluck at the grass between my fingers. “As much as I hate Atticus, and as little as I know Maylo, I think if I were gone, they’d feel it. Their bonds with me would fray too. That has to matter to them. And they have influence with the Council.”
For a beat, no one speaks. Then Holly nudges my shoulder, softer than usual. “You don’t have to carry this alone, Arwen. We’re here. Even if it gets messy.”
Sly leans back on his elbows, squinting at me. “Just don’t forget who’s already fighting beside you while you’re out making deals.”
Cleo sighs, grabbing my hand. “Just—be careful. Every person you drag into this makes it riskier.”
“Risky’s her thing,” Tabby says with a grin, breaking the tension.
I laugh despite myself, but my gaze flicks to Brix. He sits a little apart from the rest, jaw tight, fists still curled in the grass like he’s waiting for another fight. His eyes never meet mine.
And though no one else calls it out, I feel the heat of his silence like a bruise pressed deep into my skin.
24
Thou Shalt Not Touch What Isn’t Yours
Arwen
Faction history is boring enough to put anyone to sleep, but right now, the words on the board are just shapes. My mind keeps drifting, sneaking back over the last few weeks.
Regular tutoring sessions with Maddox, which are supposed to be pure torture. What started as his testing my patience has somehow… not softened, but shifted. Almost friendly, in a way that makes me suspicious.
He still has that smug edge that makes me want to smack him—and a terrifying presence—but now and then, there’s a flicker. A moment where he’s not sharp, not calculated, not untouchable. And, damn it, I catch myself noticing it. Not that I’d ever admit it.
He hasn’t brought up the potion again. Just that it’ll take time, like even talking about it out loud is too heavy to carry. I try not to let it eat at me, but waiting has a way of getting under my skin.
And then there’s Ryker. No more “official” dates—not after the last one—but somehow we’ve carved out these tiny in-between moments. Coffee before a study session, a quick chat in the hallway when we collide by accident. Little things, casual and unremarkable, and yet they stick. Like he’s folding me into his world without even noticing, and I’m left wondering if I should care, or if I even get a say in it.
The strangest thing that’s happened, though, is the tights.
Yes, tights.
They showed up on my bed one evening, wrapped like a gift. No note. No hint of who they’re from. Just… there.
