Page 117 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

“Buzal!” Tiger replies cheerily, almost sloshing the stuff over the rim of his glass as he raises it with enthusiasm.

“And what is that . . . ?”

“Dude, how’ve you not heard of it? It’s as common as champagne,” Cooper says.

“That glowing shit is common?”

“What’s wrong with glowing shit? We see Avri all the time.”

“Yeah, but that’s energy, not something meant for consumption.”

He counters, “Well, actually, we do consume Avri in tablets.”

“That’s not the point—I mean like food and drink.”

His shoulders lift unhelpfully.

I sigh, leaning my elbow on the edge of the tub and rubbing my temple, before dropping it, focusing on the relaxing feel of the water moving around me.

I momentarily wonder why there’s even a hot tub in the Headquarters—before remembering there’s rich people everywhere around here, and with the amount they make from TBG, the higher-ups could buy a thousand without making a dent in their bank accounts. And it’s not like I’m complaining right now when this is close to paradise for my muscles. We really needed this day off after so much hard work, the nonstop training.

As the others joke around—or more like Tiger pokes fun at Cooper until he indulges him, while Tate and Alby hardly make a sound—I notice their longing looks at Ezla, and I shift my focus over my shoulder, eyes finding her again, drawn to her like a moth to a flame, unable to resist temptation.

There she sits, so beautiful, so unbearably stunning, the faint olive tone in her fairer skin enhanced by the beige lighting above. A fist clenches around my heart, and not only because of her beauty.

But because she looks so lonely. So isolated.

Does she have anyone in her life other than us and her father?

I don’t even know what their relationship is like, and if it’s not good . . . My stomach turns over. If it’s not good, she could very well have no one. She probably won’t even allow herself to. We’re right here, and she certainty doesn’t let us get within a foot of her unless she’s planning to floor us.

I watch with my heart pounding erratically, trying to crawl out of my chest and across the floor to her, as her gaze strays to us in the hot tub.

She doesn’t notice me watching her yet, which is only more proof to me that she’s not feeling great, as if she’s adrift somewhere in her own mind. And I could swear, though I wouldn’t dare to hope . . . that her eyes found us involuntarily . . . and that a hint of longing flashes through them.

Before it’s quashed.

Her face hardens, a mask stealing her from me. She stands without a word, legs moving efficiently to try to take her from the room, from us, with not so much as a goodbye.

Silence falls, thick and oppressive, my brother’s chipper voice dying a brutal death on his last exclamation.

My heart lodges itself in my throat, and before I can take a moment to think things through, I shove my voice past it, half rising from the heated water to call out, “WAIT!”

The quiet deepens, the air now stifling as the echo of my plea fades.

Ezla stills.

Every inch of me aware of where she stands with her back to the tub, halfway between us and the exit, I repeat at a more subdued volume, “Wait. Ezla, Love . . .” I swallow hard. “Stay.”

She doesn’t move a muscle. Not one little twitch.

“Please stay,” Alby whimpers, hardly audible.

But I know she heard it.

Ever so slowly, she turns around.

She’s as unreadable as always, expression absent of anything at all.