"In total, there are forty couples."
Neither Salt nor I comment.
"A typical daily schedule looks like this. Breakfast is served from 8:30 to 9:30. Lunch is at 12:00 in the cafeteria. Then at 3:30 pm we have something we callobed."
"What’s that?" Salt raises an eyebrow.
Gomez chuckles. "Our warden, Mr. Sidorov, is of Russian descent. He introduced a main meal called ‘obed’, but the dinners are lighter for that reason. He considers it a healthier option," Mr. Gomez adds with a wink.
"I actually get that. I’m Sicilian, and for us,pranzoaround 2:00 pm is a very important meal of the day. Thanks to that, we can eat less at dinner, which is healthier."
After a short pause, Salt asks,
"Who works on the island, only betas?"
"Of course. There are no omegas on our grounds, so as not to distract alphas, and participants are generally expected to remain within the facility."
"Wait. So even alphas and betas who aren’t part of Second Chance aren’t allowed to leave?" I raise my eyebrows.
"Of course they can leave. But we do ask that visits outside the facility be kept to a minimum, as they can significantly disrupt both the bonding process and hormonal balance."
"How often do they leave, then?" Salt presses.
"It depends. Not that often. Mainly around holidays. The ferry generally runs once a week, and that is sufficient. Once a week, it also transports supplies."
"Oh," Salt says, lightly rubbing his chin. His heart rate picks up again, which catches my attention.
"But people from Second Chance don’t take part in that? They don’t leave the island?" he presses. I narrow my eyes and watch him closely. His body seems a bit tense.
"Alphas can; they don’t have sentences, after all. They are free individuals. That said, we still strongly encourage limiting it. Upon arrival, participants sign an agreement committing to a minimum of three years, with a strong recommendation to extend to five, and they understand that obligation very clearly."
Silence settles again. Salt looks thoughtful, staring toward the horizon and the ocean, while I stare at the tablet screen, where the aerial view of the island is still displayed.
Some of Salt’s questions strike me as odd. I wonder what’s behind them, but I hope we’ll have plenty of time to talk about it later.
"What happens once we arrive on the island?" I ask.
"Your unit is already being prepared and will be available immediately. You can drop off your luggage and take a shower." Mr. Gomez checks his watch. "We’ll be there in about half anhour, and lunch starts at two, so you’ll have time to freshen up and join everyone in the cafeteria. After that, you’ll be invited to a brief welcome meeting with our warden. It’s purely a formality, just signing the facility regulations."
"Okay."
I finish the last sandwich on my plate.
"Do you have any other questions? I’ll be happy to clarify anything if there are doubts," Mr. Gomez says with a friendly smile.
"I have one," Salt says. "Is there internet access?"
"Of course," Mr. Gomez replies, his tone almost offended by the question. "Many of our residents work remotely. A lot of them are programmers, writers, marketers. Some are even influencers. They live perfectly normal lives."
"Good to hear," I murmur.
We would need something to fill our time, aside from whatever the program coordinators have planned for us. Quietly, I hope I’ll be able to keep developing my journalism career here.
Gomez lifts his gaze. "Ah, here we are," he says cheerfully.
On the horizon, a green, rocky shape of an island comes into view. From a distance, a small private harbor is already visible.
Both Salt and I fix our eyes on it, on the place that represents our shared future.
