Page 31 of Interion

This was as close to breaking the law as I allowed myself to go, and my heart was racing like I was committing a federal crime. The rules said I could have up to 25% absences without failing, and if they were giving me that much leeway, why not use it?

I stopped by the academy to drop off the note before heading home. I got chills every time I had to set foot in that place. I hated it—hated the students, the idiotic rules, and the arrogant director. I hated everything about it.

When I got home, Kiara, who had heard my footsteps, jumped from the couch to the floor, rolling on the rug like she was thrilled to see me. I lay down beside her and petted her mane. The fur was braided and tied with blue hair ties. I did this to keep it manageable and the strands neat. The chimera seemed to really like the braids, but looking closely, you could see they were full of knots and needed to be redone.

“Hello, girl,” I said, looking into her eyes. She scooted forward on her front paws until her cold nose touched mine. “I had a brilliant idea for our afternoon together!” Kiara looked at me like she had no idea what I was talking about. “What do you think about having a girls' afternoon? We can comb your mane and redo the braids.”

She stood up excitedly and tapped her paws on my leg, signaling that she liked the idea. We went upstairs to the bathroom, and while she got in the tub to soak, I grabbed the shampoos to wash her fur.

Yes, we were really going to have a girls' afternoon.

Δ

The next day, I left the hospital at 1 p.m. and went straight home. My plan for the afternoon was to study neurological diseases affecting humans and fae, because Ambrose was struggling to figure out what illness had afflicted the patient Zion had brought from outside the walls. There was a collection of twelve volumes on neuropathologies, and to help Ambrose, I'd committed to reading all of them until I found something useful. It would take almost three months to get through everything, so I was using every free moment to push the research forward.

I finished setting up my study space and grabbed the first volume, but as soon as I opened the book, my phone started ringing on the table. The number was unknown, so I hung up and focused on the first chapter. It rang two more times while I tried to read about multiple sclerosis, and on the third ring, I answered, my patience gone.

“Who is this?” I asked, irritated at being interrupted when I was so focused on studying.

“Why didn't you go to the academy yesterday, and apparently aren't planning to go today either?”

I closed the book in shock and fumbled to check the caller ID again, nearly dropping my phone. It felt like I'd forgotten how to breathe as my brain registered Zion's voice. I stood up, leaving the tome on the coffee table, and paced back and forth, unsure what to say.

“How...” I stammered, unable to form a coherent question. “How do you know I'm going to skip?”

“Because you're at home when you should be at the academy.”

“How do you know I'm at home?”

The silence was deafening, in a way. I felt embarrassed at being caught, like some rebellious teenager. Still, curiosity crept in alongside the shame, and I wondered how he knew I was at home. I looked around for cameras and immediately got paranoid.

“It doesn't matter, Kyller! I want you at the academy immediately. You'll end up failing the final test if you keep skipping.”

I couldn't pretend Zion wasn't right about that. There was no better argument than his. My performance at the academy wasn't the best, and failing the final test could ruin everything I'd built over the years. All the effort and talent I had for my profession would simply be thrown away if I didn't pass. On the other hand, it would also be unfair to myself to pretend the reasons I'd skipped were completely idiotic. No one wakes up eager to face a bunch of angry fae with free rein to beat up and knock out anyone. But weighing it all, I think I'd rather get knocked out a few more times than spend the rest of my life on the margins of society for failing the test. I was already drawing breath to murmur an apology when the next words came through the phone:

“If you don't go now...” The threatening tone made me hang up before he could finish.

The famous Drute short fuse reared its head now and then, even though I'd had years of therapy and tried to keep it in check. Some triggers just sent me straight into fury. Who did Zion think he was to order me around or threaten me into doing what he wanted? He had a convincing argument on its own, but he'd chosen pressure instead, and I wouldn't stand for that.

I threw myself on the couch, breathing deeply and exhaling through my mouth, trying to cool the flame of anger that made me impulsively stubborn. But the technique was much easier in theory than in practice. It was clear Zion had a gift for pulling me out of the bubble of calm and patience I'd so painstakingly built for myself over the years. As I stared at the ceiling, I heard the phone ring and completely ignored it. It vibrated two more times, then I heard a message notification, and that piqued my curiosity through the anger. When I picked up the phone, there was a message from him.

“Don't make me call the hospital and report Ambrose's fake certificate.”

And there went any attempt to calm down. He was not going to threaten Ambrose.

“Ambrose has nothing to do with this.”

“His stamp on your certificate tells me otherwise. You have three minutes to get up and go to the academy.”

My fingers simply wouldn't stop typing. I realized it was easier to express myself in writing than out loud, so, my mood inflamed by his arrogance, I impulsively added:

“You have no right whatsoever to tell me what to do with my life.”

“I'm your trainer, so yes, I do. Two minutes.”

Anger—not only at Zion's arrogance in thinking he had the right to boss me around, but also at my own childishness for potentially causing a huge problem for Ambrose—made me want to lash out at him.

“You're an idiot who thinks he can.”