Page 125 of Glutton for Punishment

A few students laugh as I sink lower into my seat.

Lennox flicks his attention to the copper trays on our desk with tiny glass vials. “Try to channel a controlled amount of your sin energy into the catalyst crystal before mixing. Too much destabilizes the potion. Too little and it dies.”

My stomach drops. The student beside me ignites her catalyst with a faint orange glow. Across the room, others follow easily. One by one, crystals shimmer alive.

I stare down at mine. Closing my fingers around the crystal, I reach inward.

Nothing.

Around me, mixtures bubble and steam successfully.

Forcing myself to move before anyone notices, I dump the catalyst into the mixture anyway and stir. For one hopeful second nothing happens… then the liquid lets out a pathetic little hiss and turns gray.

A snort sounds out from someone next to us. “Maybe the stories were bullshit.” A few quiet laughs follow. My ears go hot first, then my neck, then my entire face, and I keep my eyes fixed on the gray, dead liquid in front of me.

***

I dump the ruined potion into the disposal bin and make a mental note to research how to fake a working catalyst later.

After class, I try to slip out fast, but the twins block both exits and end up escorting me through the halls like I’m royalty.

The weirdest part isn’t the outright avoidance—it’s that no one can decide if they should treat me like a ticking bomb, a trophy, or a target. A girl in a Sloth uniform sprints to catch up and asks if I’ll sign her cast.

“Sign it as Lady West?” she adds, voice trembling with excitement. She giggles and then sprints away, tripping over her own shoes.

Two Lusts hover by a vending alcove, openly taking selfies on their phones with me in the background. When I stop to glare at them, one winks and says, “Smile, Sinless.”

The only thing keeping me upright is knowing I have combat class next. My one tiny sacred hour of the day where it’s okay to hit things. Or people. I speed-walk down the side corridor, buzz cut one and two flanking me like flies on garbage. They don’t talk, just fall in lockstep with every turn I make.

The hallway empties fast. I pretend to scroll on my phone, waiting for them to come closer. When they get within reach, I whirl, plant my foot, and sweep the right twin’s leg out from under him. He hits the ground with a satisfying thud. I take the second by the shirt and slam him into the wall, forearm braced across his throat.

“You following me is making it worse,” I hiss. “I don’t care what Maddox told you; I don’t want you here.”

His pulse flutters under my arm.

“In case you didn’t get the memo,” I say, pressing my arm in to cut off his air supply, “I can take care of myself.”

I hold the glare until he finally blinks. “Copy,” he says, voice raw but steady. That’s all. No apology, no threat, just a single acknowledgement. I let him go and step back, half expecting them to jump me. Instead, both of them turn and walk away in rigid, humiliated lockstep.

I’m not even half a hallway down away when my phone pings again.

Maddox: You really shouldn’t injure the people whose job is to keep you alive.

I roll my eyes, stash my phone, and marvel at the raw, open air in front of me. I make it to the combat gym outside the academy, still crackling with post-adrenaline.

The gym is empty, for once. Only the echo of my shoes and the chemical tang of old sweat linger as I cross the blue mats. I can feel my guard dropping—for about two seconds until I reach my assigned locker and spot the locker door slightly ajar.

I open the locker cautiously, hoping no one ruined my gear, but everything looks untouched.

Instead, on the top shelf, someone’s left a box. A square, silver-wrapped package with an obnoxious, shiny bow.

I stare at it for a second, then look around the empty locker room. Not a soul in sight.

I pull the box out, set it on the bench, and pop the lid. Nestled in black velvet is the fanciest dagger I’ve ever seen. The handle is worked with blue fire-opal and delicate scrolling lines. A blade so sharp it shimmers even under the flat overhead lights. I run my thumb down the flat of it.

A slip of paper falls out of the velvet and flutters to the floor. I squat to pick it up, brain already ticking through who would leave me something this pretty. When I read the words, my heart stops.

Little Chaos,