Page 81 of Interion

“The director sent a message saying the sonar tests will be on Tuesday,” I said, putting away my phone and bringing the omelet and milk to the table.

“I know. I talked to him last night and we agreed to move up the test to make up for the days I won’t be at the academy. Besides, you were the only student who hadn’t plateaued yet, so there’s no reason to wait any longer.”

I frowned at this new information. The last one! I was behind even in this. Zion sat down and I walked over to set the plate of omelet in front of him. He stared at it strangely, as if I had placed alien tentacles before him. I sat down right after and began to eat, watching his reactions. There seemed to be a question mark hovering above his head.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, confused. “Don’t you like eggs?”

He didn’t move, just stared at me. I thought back to the night we met, remembering that he hadn’t eaten what I’d offered him then either.

“Do you know what this could mean?” he asked seriously.

Before answering no, I studied the eggs, the table, his face... I had no idea what he was talking about, but when I opened my mouth to deny it, a memory of Ambrose teaching a class on fae etiquette filled my mind, and instantly understanding colored my cheeks red.

“It’s nothing like that, Zion. It’s just food—I’m not inviting you to anything,” I replied, embarrassed.

I remembered that in ancient fae tradition, when a female cooked and offered food to her male, it was seen as a sexual invitation. In the old days, when unions were made through marriage, the honeymoon could only happen after this rite was performed. Nowadays, it wasn’t common anymore, but the action still carried a sexual connotation, and if a man accepted the food, he would also be accepting the act.

Zion was still watching me warily, avoiding the eggs and starting with the cheese bread instead. I pretended not to care, but I have to admit I felt a slight pang of rejection—and it wasn't just about the eggs. I ate in silence, thinking about how hard it was to be around him without things getting complicated. For a while, the only sound in the room was our forks clinking against the plates. When I finished the omelet and stuffed myself with as much cheese bread as I could fit, I remembered what I'd originally wanted to ask.

“Zion, I have a question.”

He looked at me, took a deep breath, and set down his toast with jam. That reaction only confirmed he felt the same tension I did.

“Ask, but I may not be able to answer.”

I noted the verb he'd used and realized this was the second time he'd said he *couldn't* answer, not that he didn't *want* to. That was worth thinking about.

“What level were you born with?” I asked, full of anticipation. He seemed relieved by the change of topic and picked up his toast again.

“I don't know.”

“What do you mean you don't know?” I slapped my palms on the table, incredulous. “All five cities do the test after a child is born. It's mandatory! It's practically like a birth certificate.”

“I wasn't born in one of the five nations.”

“Where were you born?”

I knew I was stepping into a minefield, but I couldn't help myself.

“Somewhere outside Interion. Before you continue, that's all I can say.”

I huffed, shaking my head. Again, I noticed that damned verb—and the more he refused to tell me about his life, the more curious I got.

“And what's your level today?”

“Special,” he replied, popping another cheese bread into his mouth. My eyes must have been bugging out of my head. I was sitting at the table with a special-level fae.

“Wow!” I exclaimed. He avoided my eyes. “And what's the exact number?”

I was so restless I could barely stay in my seat.

“Guess. I'll give you three chances.”

“In the 1,100 range?” I grew even more excited.

“Wrong,” he replied with a half-smile.

“1,400?” I asked, uncertain. There was no way he could have a higher level than Serguei. Zion finished another piece of toast, and I nearly squirmed with anticipation.