Page 205 of Interion

“When did you get so annoying?” Serguei retorted.

“And this whole little show is to impress Kyller? I’m surprised you didn’t invite more people to see what a nice guy you are,” Zion mocked, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed.

“It’s not a show, Zion. I invited you because I wanted you both here for my birthday.”

Serguei had lost his enthusiastic smile; now he seemed defensive. I cleared my throat, drawing both their attention.

“You can look, Serguei. I don’t mind,” I said. Then I shot Zion a hard look, and he returned an even harder one. I felt Serguei enter my mind and sift through it with surgical precision. By the time he finished, I’d barely taken two bites from my plate.

“Interesting, Kyller. You have no idea how interesting this is,” he exclaimed, eyes gleaming, a slight tremor in his voice. “When I was younger, I never invaded Lagherta’s mind—out of respect, and because I didn’t want to get my ass kicked.” Zion laughed humorlessly from across the table, and Serguei continued, ignoring him. “But if I had looked, I would have known something was off. Lagherta was the best warrior in Drutes, but no soldier ever trained her. Now I know where her fighting style came from.”

He stood and paced the room, visibly tormented. Then he turned toward the black book.

“What are you talking about? How could she be the best warrior if no one ever taught her? What did you see in my dream?” I asked, leaving the table as well.

“Once you read the other part, you’ll understand,” he said, clutching the book, seeming slightly unhinged. “Now things make sense, ‘granddaughter of the apocalypse.’ I believe what the sonar said will start making sense, Kyller.”

My heart pounded with fear. At that moment, Zion stood from the table too, wiping his mouth with a napkin as he approached me.

“Maybe it’s time to leave.”

Serguei blinked a few times, then seemed to compose himself.

“No, not yet. We have a cake to cut, children.” He left the book where it was and returned to the table. His eyes never left me.

“Don’t look at me like that, Kyller. You’ll be surprised too when you read it.”

“Then unlock it so I can find out,” I said, pointing at the book expectantly.

“No, we’re not done here yet, and I don’t want to lose my gifts.”

He pressed a button on the table and the butler entered. Meanwhile, my mind raced, desperate to know what had left Serguei so agitated. He was trying to control himself but seemed unable to stay in one place. Dazed, I wandered around the room while Zion followed me with his gaze. I stopped in front of the painting I’d seen earlier and studied the young woman in it.

She stood casually, leaning against the edge of a fireplace, with the look of someone deeply satisfied. Her hair was jet black, and her eyes were slightly slanted, marking mixed Vinturian descent. A beauty mark sat above her full lips, and her body was curvaceous like mine. A mixed-race woman—part Vinturian, part Drutes.

I turned to Zion, who sat on the sofa, his eyes still fixed on me. He stared with such intensity it made me uncomfortable. I returned my attention to the painting. That woman. Those eyes. They made me restless, as if I didn’t want to keep looking. It felt like I was seeing something I knew but had never seen before. Just like the feeling I’d had in the forest.

“Ready, children! Come! Let’s cut the cake,” Serguei called, holding a knife. I took one last look at the woman and made my way to the table. “How do I do this?” he asked, agitated, holding the knife as if he were about to throw it at a target.

I stepped closer, pulling the cake toward me, and Zion, still scowling, joined us.

“Haven’t you ever seen someone cut a cake in a movie?” I asked Serguei. His face lit up, his eyes like those of a child discovering the world.

“I don’t watch movies. Hearing the chaotic thoughts of two hundred thousand people takes up all my time. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have this power. I wish I were a normal person with a normal family.”

His eyes fell on Zion, who shoved his hands in his pockets and pretended not to hear.

“Then make your wish when you blow out the candles,” I advised, picking up the lighter and lighting the wicks.

“A wish? I make a wish and blow out the candles?”

I rolled my eyes. I was teaching one of the most powerful fae in the world how to cut a birthday cake. Zion seemed to be hanging on every moment.

“I can’t believe you two don’t know how to do this,” I exclaimed, lighting the last candle. They both shrugged, and I laughed.

“Just make your wish and blow,” I encouraged him.

He leaned over the cake, thinking. Finally, he blew out the candles and straightened up with a smile. I clapped, since we hadn’t sung “Happy Birthday.”