"Don’t lie!" someone screams, his voice shaking.
An unexpected figure rises from the floor where he had been kneeling. Straight as a blade, Fred takes a step toward the warden.
"That’s exactly what you told me, bastard. That I was going to state prison. That the next ferry would take me away. That I’d never see Bashir again! Or did you forget?"
Miller’s mouth stretches once more into that familiar smile as he calls out, before Sidorov responds, "My dears, this really isn’t the best moment for such discussions! Mr. Sidorov and I assure you there are no such situations here. This is all a huge misunderstanding, words taken the wrong way, consents given under the impression of pressure where none existed at all." His eyes flick to Fred. "These were merely suggestions. No one would have thrown you out…"
"You’re lying, you’re lying! Now, when everyone’s watching you, you soften it!" Fred raises his voice, fists clenched, his face red and furious. "But Sidorov told me that if I didn’t agree, I’d be on the ferry tomorrow at 5:30. Those were his exact words!"
"I object to such accusations," Sidorov says stiffly, lifting his chin. "And I won’t engage further under these circumstances! If any of you have questions regarding the rules of this program, I invite you to my office. I assure you no one here is being forced into anything."
He gestures toward the head of the beta guards. "Harvey, take Drax. We’re leaving. We will not discuss matters in an emotionally charged atmosphere. Tomorrow we will convene a special assembly where everything will be explained. For now, please continue your meal in peace. All other activities will proceed today as scheduled."
Harvey Bram and his men struggle to lift half-conscious Drax, his body dead weight in their arms. Purples are extra heavy because of their thick bones, and for betas it has to feel like hauling a slab of stone; Harvey’s jaw clenches, veins rising sharply at his temples as they stagger toward the exit.
The noise in the room doesn’t die down, though. People move toward Fred and Bashir. I hear questions being asked. I spot Spencer and Ansel among them, unsurprisingly, given their island seniority. Both step up, questioning him, while most alphas approach Bashir. More of the older and mid-tenure pairs gather around them as well.
I smile to myself. Knowledge is power. Everyone understands that. Now that they know, they can prepare and make decisions together.
Satisfied with how things turned out, I walk over to Salt, who is still sitting at the table, carefully hiding the phone in his hand. Honestly, I doubt anyone noticed he was recording. He was pretty sneaky doing it.
"Wow," Salt mutters excitedly. "That really escalated fast!"
"Yeah, it had to be done."
Salt’s eyes search mine. "You were amazing there. A true rebellion leader."
I wince. "Hey, don’t give me too much credit. I didn’t do anything, really. Bashir helped, and Fred!"
"No! Don’t downplay it—"
Suddenly something catches my eye, something I had not noticed before. Drax had been holding a stack of papers clenched in his fist, and they slipped from his hand when he fell.
I pick them up and flip through them, then show them to Salt.
"Look. These are… consent forms signed by betas for consensual ‘stimulation sex’ meant to trigger a hormonal response. The signatures… Fenn Drax, the betas’ names, and… Sidorov’s name!"
Salt curses under his breath.
"Fuck. What if Drax thought this was all agreed on?" He looks up at me. "What if the intimidation happened without him being present? He was only given unit numbers and a green light to fuck?"
I rub my chin. "Who knows. Still, that does not change the fact that he was part of something illegal, and even if he didn’t know for sure, his failure to probe further could be seen as negligence."
"Wow, sounds like you know about stuff like this."
I wince. "I have done two and a half years of a law degree, but that’s beside the point. Drax is not even important here. It’s Sidorov who’s the real bad guy. He was blackmailing them, setting things in motion."
Salt nods and puts the papers down on the table where people leave their trays.
"Right. This whole thing is shady as hell."
"Let’s get out of here. These people probably think all the drama always starts with us," I murmur, because I catch Roman’s uneasy gaze.
He is huddled next to Evan, almost pressed into his side like a scared chicken; the two of them look thoroughly panicked and… disillusioned. Their naive idea of what this island was like has clearly shattered, and they have no idea how to deal with it.
We step out of the building into the scorching sun. We walk in silence for a bit while I review the recording Salt made on the phone. It looks solid. They won’t be able to wriggle out of this.
"I’m not going to let this slide. Sidorov has already downplayed it, and the BA oversight board’s statement was vague as hell. Before long, the warden could go back to his old ways. I’m sending it to Storm, Jordan Arnold, and Mr. Gessler. I’ll skip posting it publicly, since they probably have other ways to exert pressure as their business partners."
