Page 28 of Interion

There was a note of sarcasm that only made me more nervous.

“And did you enjoy watching me get beaten up?” His hand tightened around the bottle, squeezing the plastic until his knuckles turned white. His eyebrows drew together, forming a frightening expression. “Did you enjoy watching Ethan kick me harder than he needed to for a knockout?”

“No,” he answered quietly, staring at me. “But that has nothing to do with me. You have a body capable of defending yourself, and you don’t use it because you’re too stubborn. You believe violence isn’t the answer, and you think if you don’t fight back, one day they’ll leave you alone. Isn’t that right?”

“No, that’s not it,” I lied, crossing my arms over my chest and narrowing my eyes.

“Good thing it’s not. Because if it were, supposedly, I’d tell you it’s a stupid plan.” Zion was serious, but sparks of anger slipped through with every word. “And if you expect them to leave you alone because you don’t fight back, I should warn you—you’re wrong. The more you act like a victim, the more they’ll act like aggressors. But that’s just supposedly. I’m sure you’re not doing that.”

Supposedly, I was dying to punch his perfect face.

“I’d like to know why it’s so wrong to want to be a normal person and not have the ambition to become the academy’s new combat prodigy. I’m a healer, Zion. This pressure about the academy doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re not a normal person. You’re a descendant, and I think you forget that. Learning to fight should be your top priority. If the first women to be captured had been warriors, this disaster wouldn’t have happened.”

“I’m safe here,” I stated, trying not to let his words sink in.

“They thought so too, and look what happened to them.”

“No one’s going to hurt me inside the inner wall.”

“Here!” He pointed at the house. “But at what point do walls stop being protection and become a cage? The world isn’t just the inner district, and one day you’ll want to see more than this.”

“And what’s your plan? Hurt me until I learn?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt. I want you to learn, but unfortunately, pain is part of the process.”

“I think I’ve felt enough pain.” I was referring to the forests, to the men who had spent years mistreating me, and he seemed to understand that.

“It’s different,” he replied after a long silence. This time, his voice softened a little.

“Oh! So tell me: what makes you so different from my former overseers?”

“The difference is that I want what’s best for you.”

A hysterical laugh escaped my lips. I watched Zion’s fist tighten around the bottle as if he wanted to crush it.

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

“It doesn’t need to.” Silence settled over us again. When he spoke, his tone was more controlled. “And you need to train other skills besides your medical ones—which, from what I saw today, are far more advanced than expected.”

I sighed, but it came out more like a grunt. If that was an attempt at a compliment, he was failing miserably—it was almost as if he didn’t know how to give one and had chosen the worst possible moment. Tired, I grabbed my bag from the couch and climbed the first step, then stopped. I felt frustrated with our interaction. Since Zion had arrived, we’d only exchanged barbs and suspicious glances. It was like navigating a maze and hitting dead ends at every turn. I needed to ask what his deal was and confront him about the biological compatibility and his disappearance. I turned around, gathering my courage.

“We need to talk about the bond of…”

But when I looked for him, only darkness stared back at me. I collected myself and continued up the stairs, grinding my teeth as I whispered:

“You’re nothing but a coward, Zion Voluz!”

Chapter 8

The next day, Zion left early, and I was spared the displeasure of seeing him around the house.

At the hospital, I got clearance to assist Ambrose in reconstructive surgery for a cervical spine injury. The patient was from Ampér and had suffered a workplace accident that left him quadriplegic. He’d come to Interion seeking specialized treatment, since it was common knowledge worldwide that Ambrose Delani was the best neurosurgeon of our time. His name had appeared in various magazines and newspapers across the continent, and he’d become known for discovering Sifox and Amstron—medications that combat Alzheimer’s—and for performing complex neural surgeries with success rates typically below 30%. The man was an idol in the medical community.

During the procedure, we exposed the patient’s spinal column, and while Ambrose regenerated the nerves and ruptured cervical discs, I helped reposition the vertebrae and control blood loss. As a novice, the doctor wouldn’t let me take on complex cases alone, but this was one of my small dreams. Just being able to participate as an assistant had me euphoric, and I wore a satisfied smile all morning.

In the afternoon, I took another beating during Zion’s insane sparring sessions, this time with Naoki. Just like Ethan, he didn’t hold back, which earned me more sore ribs and bruises on my hip. The injuries would bother me until nightfall and disappear by morning, just like the black eye from the day before. Now we were in the last class of the day: the damned knife target practice. Unlike Cauê, Zion had set a minimum of ten hits, and we couldn’t leave until we completed it.