SALT #4
Evan tells us he works as an architect, and Roman does some kind of online consulting.
I almost ask what crime Roman got caught up in because he looks way too sweet, but I stop myself just in time.
That would be super tactless, and it would only lead to the next question, "And you?
" which I am definitely not ready to answer.
According to them, their employers let them have flexible schedules so they can mix work with island activities.
Evan then asks Eliano about his job. Eliano says he runs a blog and writes investigative pieces for different newspapers.
He also makes short videos with AI voiceovers about weird, unsolved murder cases.
When Roman turns to me and asks what I do, I keep it simple. "I’m a tattoo artist, so finding work here might be tricky. I’m probably going to focus on making digital designs and selling them on stock platforms."
I’m not really used to this kind of small talk. My job is mostly solo. Tattooing clients doesn’t call for much chatting, and I’ve always kept it to a minimum anyway.
I always really connected only with Senu…
Thinking about him floods me with guilt, but luckily we’re just getting to the building, so at least I have something else to focus on.
Pairs are coming at us from all directions. Some are holding hands, others are wrapped up way closer than that. Damn, romance is definitely thriving here.
We step into the cafeteria. It’s massive, clearly built for a hundred couples, not just forty. That’s a relief because it means we don’t have to jam in at the long communal tables.
People can spread out more, and some take advantage of that. I assume those are the residents who arrived later, like us.
We all line up for food. Behind the glass cases, there’s a wide selection. Everyone piles as much as they want onto their trays and plates, then swipes their card at the register.
After that, we head back to our seats. I notice plenty of curious glances, but no one comes over.
We sit with Evan and Roman. Evan seems pretty talkative and keeps the conversation flowing.
Eliano starts asking him about the fights.
Evan laughs and says they’re more like scuffles since none of the alphas here actually know any real combat techniques, except for one guy named Bashir.
Still, he explains that one event is especially popular.
They call it "Last Man Standing." The alpha considered the best at the moment, which is Bashir, has fifteen minutes to take down as many challengers as possible as they rush him. Or… the challengers can take him down. Eventually, if he gets knocked out by a disabling blow, the one who landed it takes his place. It’s supposed to be fun.
I immediately notice Eliano’s face darken. Yeah, this isn’t sitting right with him. From what Storm said earlier, he’s been trying to step away from his old life.
Groups start forming around the cafeteria. Some people obviously know each other, others just seem to click, which makes sense in a place like this.
The food’s actually pretty good, and Eliano and I finish up fast.
When we’re done, I spot Mr. Miller coming out of a side door, heading straight for us.
"I see you’ve finished eating. Please come with me," he says with a broad smile.
We follow along silently, not bothering Miller with any more questions and just trying to get a sense of how everything works.
The walk takes a minute. The path winds past the rec building and deeper into the main administrative complex, which explains all the endless corridors we keep passing.
Finally, we step into the warden’s office. The nameplate on the door says: Oleg Sidorov.
The man is on the phone. When he notices us, he just keeps going like we’re not even there, dragging it out for several long minutes. I can’t even tell what the call is about; he has a thick accent. It sounds like some supply problem for the island or something.
Finally, he hangs up and gives us a look from under those heavy eyebrows.
"I assume you’ve already familiarized yourselves with the regulations?" he asks in an official, slightly bored tone, sliding copies of the document toward us, the same one we already reviewed in our unit.
"Yes," Eliano says. "We’ve read through them."
"And you raise no objections, I take it?" Another lift of the eyebrows, more a statement than a question.
"No objections, although some of the points are phrased rather vaguely."
"Everything is phrased exactly as it should be," the warden replies, a bit insolently.
There’s clearly no room for discussion, so Eliano and I sign the documents.
For a moment, his narrowed eyes lock on me, and his mouth twists into something like a sneer. Then he mutters,
"Don’t cause trouble here, or you’re out."
I freeze, mouth hanging open, ready to snap back, but just then Mr. Miller walks in.
"Come on, the doctor is waiting for you," he says, hurrying us along so I don’t have time to react.
Just as we open the door, someone approaches from the other side.
We both nearly freeze in place, blinking in disbelief.
A huge alpha is walking toward us, but damn, he doesn’t look like an ordinary man, but more like a monster.
Along the lower half of his face and down his neck, there are thin purple lines creeping upward, climbing toward his eyes and forehead.
It looks as if half of his face is burning in unmoving flames.
Faint reddish streaks climb into his hairline, disappearing under his dark hair.
His eyes are the same deep shade of purple, which makes him look like something supernatural.
Is that his real appearance, or is he on his way to a masquerade ball?
I have to tilt my head back to look at him. He’s unmistakably a purple alpha, huge in build, even bigger than Storm Nolan. A true beast!
I see Eliano’s nostrils flare slightly, his face tightening as if a strong scent hit him. I smell nothing. Sometimes being a beta is a blessing, free from the ever-present assault of pheromones.
The man passes us in silence and steps into the warden’s office, closing the door behind him.
"Who was that freak?" Eliano mutters to Miller.
"Fenn Drax."
"Purple?"
"Yes."
"I thought only betas worked on the island."
"And him."
The previously talkative Miller suddenly cuts the conversation short.
Interesting. I have no idea what role Drax plays here, but it’s obvious the deputy administrator doesn’t want to get into it.
"We’re late for your visit to the medical section," he says, picking up the pace.
This time, my nerves refuse to settle. Once again, we make our way through the corridors. It takes a solid chunk of time to reach the medical wing. My tension spikes even higher when we stop in front of the door.
"Who goes in first?" Eliano asks.
"You go in together."
"I don’t understand?" Eliano raises an eyebrow.
Miller spreads his hands, mildly amused. "Those are the rules. Couples are examined together."
"That doesn’t sound… reasonable. People need privacy," Eliano says, glancing at me carefully.
I get the sense he’s saying it for me, like he actually cares about how I feel.
My nerves must be obvious, my heart pounding hard, but I quickly turn my face aside.
No way am I showing him any gratitude. I don’t want him thinking I’m starting to warm up to him.
Not a chance. The last person who cared about me was Senu, and that’s where that line ends.
"Do we have to take everything off for the exam?"
"Yes, and everything will be explained inside. Please, go in."
"I’ll stay here," Eliano says firmly. "I don’t think we should be in the room for each other’s check-ups yet."
Miller’s face suddenly hardens. "I’m sorry, but those are the rules. The examination will not take place unless you are both in the room together."
"Aren’t you the ones who care more about the check-ups happening at all?" Eliano asks wryly.
"And do you want to remain in the program, or would you prefer to return to the ferry tomorrow?"
The coldness of his words sends a shiver down my spine. From being an old, cheerful grandpa, Miller switches to a stern administrator in a second. It dawns on me then that fighting this is pointless. They hold all the power here.
"Okay, Eliano. I’ll manage," I say sourly.
"A reasonable decision," Miller replies, giving us a cool look. Fucking chameleon, switching from friendly to total bureaucratic prick in an instant.
A sudden thought strikes me. Maybe the whole program is like this? Pleasant until something goes wrong, then suddenly much less so.
After all, the betas here are still felons. They may have no problem showing who’s in charge at the first sign of resistance.
Eliano studies me for a moment, then exhales lightly. "Alright, if that’s what you want."
We step into the room with grim faces. Even though I don’t want to admit it, it feels kind of nice that he tried to have my back when he saw I was uncomfortable. Doesn’t matter though. We’re not meant to be.
When we step inside, Miller stays outside, thankfully. The room is spacious and modern, all white surfaces, metal, and glass. In the corner, near a machine with a screen, a lone beta sits studying something through what looks like a microscope.
The man stands when he sees us. He looks to be around forty, with neatly cut black hair and thin glasses. His expression is very official. With a brief gesture, he indicates two chairs by his desk, where a laptop sits.
"Please, have a seat, and welcome to the center. I’m Dr. Lee."
We both sit down. Neither of us speaks. The mood is tense.
The doctor opens a program on his laptop and studies some data for a moment.
"At this time, I have very incomplete medical records," he says in a rather robotic tone.
"I have a complete set of files for you, Salt. But I don’t have any medical records on you at all," he adds, turning to Eliano with an almost accusatory look.
"Only your name. Not even your last name. "