Page 182 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

Scowling at everyone and everything not in our Bonded group, I fight to keep my steps even as we advance towards the mammoth monstrosity at the end of the long carpet, but it’s hard when I want to turn around every few feet to deck the nearest photographer or reporter.

Fortunately—or unfortunately for my tingling fists—we reach the heavy golden doors without any real issues, and two men dressed in expensive tuxedos who’d been standing by push them open for us, admitting us inside.

The ballroom greets us immediately, only a small open entry space shaped with straight plain walls in a sort of rectangular box to separate it somewhat from the huge circular room where hundreds of guests mingle. My gaze rakes over the interior:

The place is exclusively here for The Bonding Games, so it only has the rooms and facilities needed for the Halfway Ball; the open doorways embedded in the extensive circular wall surrounding the ballroom likely lead to the toilets, the dining room, kitchens, and other staff facilities. It’s also the only building in all of Techta that is golden, most of whose structure I know is real gold from the boasting on live TV every year, and a gigantic chandelier displays this well with its gleaming arms and sparkling crystals right in the centre of the domed ivory-and-gold ceiling. Parallel to that, the sheeny floor is checkered, alternating between the two theme colours all around, and the continuous wall is a mixture of swirling patters in the same shades.

Servers carry multiple trays of alcohol throughout the overload of guests, all of whom are dressed in black unless they’re the Players I find scattered around the crowd who are clothed in varying distinctive colours, two of whom no longer have a Bonded group; one of those wears a pink tie, while the other man—who I recognise as Player 2, meaning he would’ve gone to Tate’s third school as EvTS 202 students hold the Player numbers from 1 to 10, just like Players 11 to 20 came from my school, and so on—wears a yellow one. I also spot who I believe is Iggy, one of the only people who I actually know the name of since Alby has mentioned him a couple times; he and his Bonds are wearing dark blue, while a raven-haired girl and a white-haired man whose names I can’t currently recall but who I know are from EvTS 246 as well are wearing purple along with the younger Exot teenager they claimed in Game 1. And there’s two other groups who are Bonded pairs, one with a woody-brown theme, and the other orange.

Lastly, there’s silver, the most eye-catching after our gold, chosen by Aider fucking Cole—who I should really insult by calling “Player 22” like Vengeance does—and his two prickish Exot buddies.

Well, the servers and everyone else were moving around, I assume.

Before everyone had stopped to stare at Vengeance in the middle of our group, the classical music playing now the only sound floating about the room as everyone gawks.

Fucking idiots.

“Stop staring at my girl, you snobby, greedy little nut-fuckers. She’s mine,” Tate growls into the silence, and some stares shift to gape at him instead, though the majority don’t leave our girl.

“It is rude to stare.”

Heads whip back around in and instant, no one eager to be sliced and diced brutally by The Bonding Games Champion.

But the ruckus that rises to attempt to pop my eardrums is clearly all about her, and they don’t make any efforts to hide it, whispers and gasps not unlike the ones outside tossed about carelessly.

I think my teeth might crack from the force I smash them together.

Ezla doesn’t share whether she’s bothered by all this or not, marching forwards and dragging me and Tiger along since we’re still connected, the other three following as the crowd parts for us like we’re some sort of ethereal beings. Or like we have the plague. I honestly can’t tell with the jumble of fear and reverence emanating from them which is more likely.

At least that’s one positive—wouldn’t wanna catch whatever pretentious-asshole virus they have.

Stopping us in the middle of the ballroom, Vengeance’s slitted gaze drills into the crowd, and I’m wondering what the bloody hell she’s doing when it pauses on a man.

A man whose face everyone knows worldwide. One of the few men I’ve fantasised about killing, who provokes my hatred of violence to fly right out the window.

The Game Master.

Ezla’s father.

My blood runs cold, then hot with the heat of a thousand suns.

I. Am. Going. To. Annihilate. Him.

Face like thunder, I take a threatening, determined step forwards, body vibrating with the force of my wrath—

And stop short at that cruel voice of sin.

Do not. Move. Another. Inch.

Nostrils flaring, nails digging into my palms so hard I’m surprised no blood’s drawn, I turn to my Bonded.

Let me kill him, I demand.

No. Stay calm, or I will leash you.

A growl tries to escape, and I strangle it before I can make more of a scene, realising all eyes are still on us. But that doesn’t mean I don’t stare those motherfuckers down.

Follow me. And do not make a sound.