I step back, letting him go.
He stands there for a moment, leaning against the wall. A light draft rushing down the hallway stirs the long, silky strands of his black and blue hair. Salt looks toward the exit, at the patch of light on the floor. I study his pensive face, his tattoos, the tangled spiderweb and the insects caught in it, the beautiful line of his neck, his long black lashes.
"Sometimes… there are only moments in life, you know?" he says in a melancholic tone.
"And sometimes there’s more."
He squeezes his eyes shut and straightens. He almost brushes himself off, like he’s trying to shake the atmosphere away.
"Let’s go get breakfast," he says in a flat voice.
I inhale. Right. Dangerous ground.
I step back and the two of us head for the door.
The line of couples with trays is short. At the end of it, I spot Bashir and Fred.
We step closer and stand in silence.
Without realizing it, my gaze shifts to them, searching for a distraction from the tangle of my own thoughts.
Then I spot a strange tension. Something’s off between them.
Fred looks barely alive, like he might collapse at any moment. Pale, dark circles under his eyes, a shadow of himself. Bashir, on the other hand, is a thundercloud, brows drawn tight, his black eyes fixed on the food containers, his body radiating heavy silence.
What happened?
Did Fred tell him what happened? Did his conscience refuse to let him lie? He is a good kid, that much is clear, and I honestly feel for him. I really hope the video changes something, that someone on the oversight board asked Sidorov the tough question.
Eventually Salt and I grab our trays and sit down, as usual, next to Evan and Roman. Our relationship with them has not improved much. There is still distance, but we exchange a few words now and then.
We eat for a bit. Roman mentions there is supposed to be a barbecue in the evening, but nothing else particularly interesting comes up.
At some point I hear a commotion behind me. I turn slowly, and suddenly I see a tall, massive figure entering the cafeteria and weaving between the tables…
Toward me?
I jump to my feet instantly, cursing under my breath, but at the same time I get a sharp flash of intuition. In a split second, I pull out my phone and shove it into Salt’s hand.
"Record everything," I mumble, straightening up.
Drax is closing in!
His strange face, as if flames had been permanently etched into his skin, is even extra red now.
A purple alpha is not someone I could easily take down. They are not built like other alphas. Their bones are reinforced with carbon fibers, and they have armor plates hidden in their bodies. On top of that, they have concealed bone protrusions that can extend through the purple lines on their limbs.
But me? I am just a typical alpha. No magical boost. Sure, I can go against the regular ones, but this is above my skill.
Still, I am not going to let myself be killed easily.
I kick a chair up and tear off one of its legs, then kick what’s left of it aside and step into his path, positioning myself squarely between him and Salt. My knowledge of kendo is my only chance here; I can’t afford to grapple with a purple. At the same time, the room erupts into chaos.
People stand up, back away, scream.
"You!" Drax roars. "You bastard!"
"What’s the problem, honey?" I throw back in a low, growling voice loud enough to carry across the entire hall so everyone hears it. "Looking for a new beta to rape?!"
