"Sure," I mumble, getting to my feet unsteadily. Damn. Obviously, immense power comes with a price. It’s like heavy drinking; the hangover always comes after, often brutal.
I take a very quick shower, and then we leave the building together.
We are a few minutes late, and the promenade is already empty, which I accept with a sense of relief.
As we enter the dining hall, every head turns toward us at once, as if on command.
We grab trays and make our way toward the serving line; there is no one ahead of us. Everyone else is already seated with their food.
I school my face into something aloof and indifferent. I am not going to apologize to these idiots. They should never have attacked me and forced me into a fucking extra Last Man Standing game when they knew I wasn’t eager for it. I do not feel like I owe them anything.
Still, a few glances toward the tables are enough to tell me the damage I have done.
Bashir may have knocked some of them down before, but I did not hold back like he did. Many of them have massive bruises on their faces, swollen lips, blackened eyes, and some of the alphas are not here at all. Their betas sit alone in a tight group, staring at me with twisted expressions.
While the glances directed at me are wary, the ones aimed at Salt are downright hateful.
Right. We definitely did not make any friends here. They probably think it all started with Salt’s provocative dancing, and that I am just his biological ‘defense machine’ working on pure instinct.
I am not sure whether we should sit with Evan and Roman, but I do not want to create more tension between us. Considering that Evan did not take part in the fight, I can tolerate his presence.
So we sit down with them, exchanging a brief hello. Salt keeps his head lowered over his tray. He looks like he is in no mood for any kind of social interaction.
"What’s up," I murmur under my breath toward Evan.
He catches my eye, looking slightly uncertain, and answers quietly, "All good. All good."
And that is that. Things have definitely become awkward.
We finish eating in heavy silence. Just as we return our trays, I notice Deputy Miller passing by in the doorway, his silhouette briefly framed by the light.
An idea hits me.
"Come with me," I say quickly to Salt, instinctively grabbing his hand and pulling him along. He lets me do it, does not jerk away.
We catch up with Miller about fifty feet down the corridor.
"Mr. Miller," I call out. "I want to discuss what happened yesterday evening!"
He stops and turns, wearing that all-knowing smirk. I hate these artificial expressions that are morbidly abundant around Sector C.
"And what exactly happened?" he asks. "Typical alpha business?"
I clench my jaw, irritation flaring.
"This is a government facility. There should be rules here. That was a serious fight."
"Are you reporting on yourself?" Miller looks amused.
"Mr. Miller…"
"This facility has a very specific profile. Natural hormonal stimulation. We do not pump people full of artificial hormones, because with the AO population, synthetic hormones perform poorly. If they worked well, betas would have been able to switch sexes long ago, becoming omegas or alphas at any time. That is not how it functions. We rely on nature, because nature is most effective."
I stare at him with a heavy gaze.
"There will be no consequences? Some people lost teeth."
"One has a broken jaw, already wired by our medical team. Jeff has a concussion and a broken nose. And so what? Alphas are alphas. It’s like a river. You can guide it with stone banks, but when a flood comes, it overflows anyway. We are aware of that, and we do not regulate natural alpha behavior."
