Page 116 of Interion

My cheeks flushed.

“Oh! Don't be embarrassed. When there's a bond, everyone's dying to know about it—it's inevitable. At least Zion obeyed me on that front. I'm glad he's not completely stupid.”

“The only stupid person here is you,” I said, letting disgust fill my expression as I leaned back on the couch. What the hell was he thinking, insulting Zion like that?

“I see the possessiveness of the partnership has already taken permanent root inside you.” When I huffed in annoyance, his eyes gleamed with amusement. “Ah, Kyller. Don't get me wrong about the bond. It's just that we made an agreement, and he needs to hold up his end.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“An agreement?”

“Are you seriously telling me you still haven't figured it out? This must be giving the boy a hell of a time.” He smiled and took another sip of his drink.

“What are you talking about?”

“When you arrived, Zion needed my help to keep you here. I'm influential, you know. So we made a blood agreement: you stayed, and he left for five full years.”

I was speechless. My mouth went dry, my hands got sweaty, and my heart raced in my chest. I wanted to ask if I'd heard him right, but of course I had—I wasn't going to play the fool in front of the psychic.

Zion hadn't left because he wanted to—it was because of an agreement. But why?

“You know why. Partnership bonds bring problems. If you complete the bond and you die, he dies too. So, knowing how weak you were, I thought it best to take precautions. Let's be honest: your first years here weren't promising at all. How many times did you walk to the cliff?”

I stayed quiet, ashamed that he knew about that. I couldn't refute his theory. But even if it explained the five years, it didn't explain why Zion still avoided me. Not to mention how strange it was to think something and have my thoughts answered as if we were having a conversation.

“It's because the time away ended, but the agreement remains. He can't complete the bond until I say it's allowed, and he can't tell you any of this either.” Serguei smiled, amused. “Okay! That last part was just to mess with him. The boy deserved it for all his rebelliousness.”

Serguei was sick. Completely. I controlled my expression, even knowing the psychic would hear my thoughts. He might be the father, but he had no authority to interfere in a bond.

“Don't be angry with me, dear. It's for both your sakes, and I'll ignore how rude your thoughts are.”

“Can you stop reading my mind?!” I exclaimed nervously, running my hands over my face.

“Actually, I can't. I don't want to,” he said, draining the amber liquid. Then he held out the glass to me. “Refill it, please.”

I sighed. I didn't want to hear another person talking about the bond. I got up and refilled the glass, handing it to him.

“What do you want to know, Serguei?” I asked, feeling tired. It was too much information to take in, and he seemed to be stalling.

“I know I'm tiresome, but what can I do? I don't get to talk to many people. Every day I sit in that chair and listen to the whiny ramblings of 200,000 people in this city. Can you imagine what a drag it is to hear and never be heard?”

I could imagine, but Serguei's reputation preceded him. It was impossible not to fear someone who had killed his own companion and then wiped out 10,000—and five hundred—people in the blink of an eye. The man was frightening, intimidating, and completely disrespectful. Then I remembered to silence my mental voice again, because he was staring at me as if he'd heard what I'd been thinking. I turned red.

“See? People say I'm disrespectful, but wasn't what you just thought exactly that? Am I supposed to pretend I don't hear all the accusatory thoughts people throw at me? Pretend I don't know?”

“Maybe if you weren't the monster they make you out to be, things would be different.”

I decided that keeping my thoughts to myself wouldn't help, so I might as well speak up. He watched me curiously, as if examining the pieces of a puzzle.

“Funny how thin the line is between monstrosity and heroism. The army exterminates thousands of innocents because their hair color is different, and the next day, they're considered heroes. I kill people who deserved to die, and I become the villain. Apparently, the concept of good and evil depends on who controls the narrative, doesn't it?”

“Bad people? What are you talking about?” I asked, intrigued by this new information about the 5% massacre.

“That's not a topic for today,” he said, watching me closely. “I'm here to discuss a more important matter. What did the sonar's other personality reveal to you?”

I gaped at him. The sonar had said the information would be kept where no one could see it and that it wasn't meant to be revealed.

“Yes, it's humiliating to have to ask, but that creature's magic is ancient and stronger than my power. So I need you to tell me of your own free will.”