Page 115 of Interion

Frightened, I positioned myself in front of Kiara, who was now sleeping peacefully. When he closed the door, his attention finally fixed on me.

“Hello, girl!”

We stared at each other for a few seconds, during which he seemed to expect a response. When he didn’t get one, he walked past me, ignoring me as if I were a piece of furniture, then headed to the sofa where the book was. I trembled with fear just from him looking at me—my stomach was so unsettled I could easily throw up my lunch at any moment.

“I see that, despite being fearful, you’re a sensible person. I was certain you wouldn’t disappoint me. I must say it’s much better to talk normally—your mind is a bit agitated, and it gives me a headache.”

“What do you want from me?” I asked, analyzing all my escape options.

A physical fight wouldn’t do any good against the psychic. Stories about the “king’s hand” were told around campfires, and they all said that when Serguei appeared to carry out an execution, the victim didn’t even have a chance to move. The massacre he’d committed was proof of that. So my best chances of survival were to talk and pray this wasn’t an execution order.

“See? Your mind is screaming a flood of thoughts at me right now,” he said, massaging his temples. “And this isn’t an execution order, Kyller. The king already has plenty of assassins in his arsenal—I’m not one of them.”

I took a deep breath, letting my muscles relax. I was still holding onto the wall where I’d hidden.

“Then what are you doing here?” If he hadn’t come to kill me, he’d probably torture me to find out what I’d discovered.

“Good grief! It’s like I’m talking to Zion. Always the same questions: ‘what do you want?’, ‘what are you doing here?’” He imitated my voice and Zion’s, and it almost made him seem like a normal person. However, Serguei had never been normal.

He stared at me angrily, probably hearing what I was thinking. He cleared his throat to get my attention.

“I already told you why I’m here, Kyller. I want to talk and ask you some things, but I also need to do something to keep you safe. You might not like that part, but soon you won’t remember. So you don’t need to be afraid.”

My eyebrows drew together, trying to understand the last part.

“You... you’re going to erase my memory?” I asked, shocked.

Serguei sighed as if bored and tilted his head, assessing me from that angle.

“It depends. Everything depends on how this conversation goes. Why don’t you sit down?” His eyes scanned the room once more. “The last time I was here, this house was different. Darker, old, poorly maintained. There were some whisky bottles on the sideboard near the stairs—I liked them. Do you still have any liquor?”

I frowned, looking at him in confusion. Serguei had been in this house before? And from the familiarity, I’d say he knew it well. He kept looking at me expectantly, waiting for an answer or the drink. I turned slowly and went to the kitchen. Still afraid, I grabbed a glass and reached for the whisky bottle under the counter. I didn’t drink, and Zion apparently didn’t either, but when I’d arrived here, there had been a huge stockpile of bottles. Now everything was starting to make sense.

“This house was mine before it was yours—I know it well. I approve of your renovation; it’s even more charming now.”

As he spoke, his eyes traveled over my body and face. I felt uncomfortable, exposed, and vulnerable, but who wouldn’t? His gaze truly saw a person’s soul, every thought and hidden secret. If Serguei was the former resident and the lawyer had said the house had been in the family for decades...

“Ask!” he said, gesturing with his hands as if urging me to spit it out.

As I brought the drink, I made a great effort not to let my hands shake uncontrollably. I set the glass on the table beside him and, against my will, sat in the armchair near him. He stared at my trembling hands.

“You’re a fearful child, aren’t you, Kyller? I believe it’s a reflection of the past. Did you know I could help you be more confident?”

“If that involves modifying my memories, then no, thanks.”

I observed the man up close. He smiled at me, a smile that would have been beautiful if it weren’t wrapped in a thick layer of arrogance—it was as if he were mocking me. His face had hard angles; it was square, well-defined, with a scar on his right cheek. His hair was a dark blond that was almost brown, just like Zion’s. I saved the eyes for last. They were blue—blue with flecks of green, sectoral heterochromia of a kind I knew very well. I didn’t even let myself be surprised; it was obvious. Zion’s power could only come from someone like this.

“You’re Zion’s father.”

“I'm amazed you noticed the similarities. I'm better looking, of course, but I'm flattered by the recognition. If people dared to look into my eyes, they'd see the resemblance and connect the dots, but no one looks into my eyes—a shame, because they're beautiful.” He took a sip of his drink, pausing, then looked at me eagerly. “Zion doesn't like us talking about this. He has some issues with me, but don't worry, that's usually how it goes between fathers and sons.”

As he stared at me, he seemed to expect some reaction, but I was still trying to process the information, so all I could manage was an unamused “hmm.” This man—the most powerful telepath on Jupiter, responsible for a massacre of over 10,000 people, and former leader of the descendants—was Zion's father.

“Ten thousand five hundred deaths, to be precise.” He smiled, sipping his whisky without taking his eyes off me, which only made me shudder again. “It's a pleasure to meet my daughter-in-law. I know we've met before, but back then, I was just a stranger to you, so this time it's different.”

“Does Zion know you're here?” I asked suspiciously.

“No, and if he did, he'd start a second Great War. Lucky for me he had to go back to the forests today.” He looked at me even more intensely. “You two are having trouble with the bond, aren't you?”