Page 63 of Interion

A bartender passed by, greeted Breno, and offered us drinks. There were several types on the tray—some were straight vodka, others were colorful cocktails with fruit. Breno advised me to go with the fruity ones since the alcohol content was lower.

“Do you know everyone here?” I asked, shouting in his ear. He smiled and looked around.

“Almost everyone. Back when I tried my hand at modeling, I had to go to a lot of events, so I met a ton of people. That was the only part worth anything.”

When he was younger, Breno had done some modeling. His face with its perfect features—the upturned nose, prominent cheekbones, and full lips—combined with his elegant, slender body, drew attention. It wasn’t the same tempestuous, raw, wild beauty that Zion or Hiro had. Breno was handsome like a delicate oil painting; each feature was perfect, elegant, and well-positioned—the ideal of a purebred Interian. And it got noticed. A talent scout had contacted him when he was sixteen, promising a good career in the spotlight. Breno accepted, more for the promise of success than for the money. But over time, he saw that the beauty industry wasn’t what they’d promised, and most models had to sleep with the bosses to achieve any success. He refused and left the business for good. For years he tried to shake off that label, as if it were a stain on his past, but people still remembered his face. It was hard to forget, especially paired with a powerful surname.

“And the girls? Seems like they know you pretty well.” Many of them looked at Breno as if he were a movie star—something he could easily be.

My friend smiled and took a sip of his drink.

“Are you jealous?”

I rolled my eyes and started laughing.

“Obviously not. I’m just asking so I know if I should worry about some possessive girl.”

His eyes widened as he looked at me.

“No! You definitely don’t need to worry. What happens here, stays here.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at me, and I turned my face away, a little thrown by his words.

By now we were swaying in a simple, slow dance as I tried to copy his movements. It wasn’t difficult, and my body sort of went on autopilot, swaying to the rhythm of the music.

“Am I doing it right?” I shouted in his ear, swinging my hips from side to side.

“I’d say you’re much better at dancing than fighting.”

I pinched him through his shirt, and he smiled mockingly.

Around me, I saw several students dancing. Adrian, Ethan, Naoki, and Miverik were sitting at a table. The four of them were competing to see who could down a bottle the fastest. That probably wasn’t a good idea, but who cared when most people were already too drunk to notice?

Breno pointed to the left corner, and I spotted Aish dancing next to a cage. She was looking toward the entrance as if waiting for someone. She looked stunning in a white dress that clung to her body. The dress was long, but there were two slits on the sides that ran up to the tops of her thighs. Her skin practically glowed under the lights. I pulled Breno in her direction, cutting through the crowd around us.

“Hi, Aish.” I approached, getting her attention.

She turned to me; the Amperian braids that fell to her hips were decorated with golden threads and rings that gleamed under the blue light, and when she smiled, recognizing me, her full lips parted languidly to reveal perfect teeth.

“Zoozi? What a surprise to see you here!” she shouted over the music, pressing a loud kiss to my cheek that caught me off guard. “You look incredible.”

She looked me over from head to toe and rested a hand on my waist. Breno watched us with curiosity, seeming surprised by Aish’s closeness. Even I was—I’d heard Amperians were warm, but I hadn’t imagined they’d be this affectionate.

“You look wonderful too!” I shouted over the music. Aish smiled and kept dancing, as if to say this place had no room for words—only movement.

The music was frenetic. At first, I thought it was strange, but after a few minutes of adjusting, I started to enjoy it and really get into the party—or maybe the first drink was already kicking in. Whatever it was, for the first time in years, I felt alive.

After a few minutes, I noticed a man heading our way. Actually, it was hard not to notice him. Girls stared, smiled shyly, and even the boys stepped aside. At the academy, Hiro might have blended in, but dressed in a black t-shirt and ripped light jeans, it was impossible to miss his strength and beauty. He was huge: broad shoulders, short blond hair, and a perfectly square jaw. All I could think about was how lucky he’d been with genetics. He’d inherited all the best traits of his race—the ones that were tolerated and softened by his blond hair.

“Hi, Tyller!” Hiro greeted me with a wave and shook Breno’s hand. For Aish, he saved a much more intimate hug.

“It’s Kyller!” I huffed, and Aish elbowed him.

“I know.” He grinned, a dimple appearing in his cheek. “Just messing with you. By the way, sorry for not getting your name right that day at the gym—I’m actually terrible with names and dates.”

It was hard to believe, since we’d spent four years studying together, but I couldn’t bring myself to be angry about it. Hiro was a different kind of guy—he’d never gotten close enough to start a conversation with me, but he’d also never provoked me like the other students did. He stayed neutral and spent most of his time absorbed in music from his vintage-looking red headphones, which I suspected was a good strategy for tuning out the class. Everyone except Aish.

I wanted to strike up a conversation with the group, but the music was so loud it seemed impossible to say anything. Maybe, I thought as I swayed along with the flow of bodies around me, that was why people preferred kissing at parties to talking.

After a few minutes, I caught Hiro sliding a hand along the Amperian’s waist, her hand settling over his. I pretended not to notice and just went with the flow. But then the music shifted to a sensual rhythm. Red lights came on in the cages, and the medusas drew our attention with a new performance. I felt Breno’s hand on my forearm, as if asking permission to dance, and I rolled my eyes—I was his dance partner tonight; we didn’t need formalities. I moved closer, and he smiled as he took my hand, placed it on his shoulder, then wrapped his arm around my waist.