A cold sweat ran down his chest. Siron stood up as if nothing had happened and picked up the basket. At that moment, a square slip of white paper caught his eye.
Between the lowest shelf and the floor was a narrow gap of about three centimeters, and poking out from it was the corner of a sheet that looked like the back of a photo print.
Just as he suspected, it was a photograph. A 4x6 glossy-coated photo—and to Siron’s surprise, the subject was Sonia. In the picture, she looked at least fifteen years younger and was beaming brightly, with what seemed to be a government building or university auditorium in the background. Standing beside her was a man in his mid-thirties, smiling toward the camera.
The man looked strikingly similar to Sonia. Especially that strong, square jawline and hawkish nose that curved just slightly at the tip—he had inherited both. Early hair loss had apparently begun, and his hairline was already receding into the shape of a shallow M. In one hand, he held several bouquets; in the other, a certificate and a trophy.
“Is Inigo not looking for me?”
“Well. You owed a lot back when you made Inigo into an alpha. What could he do if he didn’t save enough money to come find his long-lost mother?”
Inigo.
The man in the photo was undoubtedly Sonia’s son, Inigo. As Siron carefully studied the picture, a sense of unease crept over him. It was because of a strange number.
2010.06.20.
Printed in orange text in the lower left corner of the photo. A timestamp preserving the most perfect day of someone’s life. Siron used it to estimate his rough age.
It’s 2014 now, so 2010 was four years ago. If Inigo was at least thirty-three in the picture, then now he’s...
Thirty-seven. And alphas usually didn’t live past thirty-five.
As Siron stared intently at the photograph, calculating Inigo’s age, Sonia appeared without a sound.
“Give it to me!”
She suddenly thrust out her hand in front of Siron and snapped sharply.
Siron looked quietly into her hardened, angry face—and then, unexpectedly, smiled.
“I found it on the floor. The photo was under the shelf and—”
“Give it to me. Now.”
“He’s your son, isn’t he?”
Sonia stared at Siron with bloodless lips pressed tight. That rigid gaze held a ferocious sorrow and rage, and Siron, seeing it, decided not to push any further. He obediently handed over the photo. Clutching it, Sonia immediately retreated into her own space, which looked like a makeshift refugee shelter, and placed the picture of her son on the highest shelf.
“How old is your son now?”
Sonia shut her eyes tightly and sighed, as though her patience had finally run dry. It was a clear sign that she didn’t want to talk about him. But Siron, feigning ignorance, grinned sweetly and asked again.
“How old is he?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“Thirty-eight. Ah, I see.”
Siron’s tone was light, but his eyes wavered in shock. Hoping she wouldn’t notice his reaction, he smiled with his eyes to cover his expression. Still, he tested her patience one more time.
“Since coming to the island, have you ever seen him?”
Sonia, who had been tidying the dusty bedding, turned to face Siron with an angry expression.
“If you ask one more pointless question, you’ll never set foot in the kitchen again.”
Siron realized that the little patience she had was now completely spent. She looked ready to throw a pillow at him at any second. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to be truly harsh. Instead of throwing him out, she settled for a warning.
“Got it. Zipping my lips. I’ll just work hard and help.”
He mimed zipping his lips shut with thumb and forefinger and accepted the heavy silence. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth.
Hybris was clearly using her long-dead son to imprison and exploit her here on the island. But to a mother who lived solely for the hope of seeing her beloved son again, telling her that he’d been dead for years would’ve been an unbearable cruelty.
Baekgyeong was staring at the food tray like a beast eyeing its prey. Today’s meal was greasy fried rice with vegetables, salt, MSG, and eggs, along with egg soup. The ketchup drawing of a whale on top of the rice confirmed it was Siron’s cooking. Even with limited ingredients, the effort to cater to Baekgyeong’s taste was evident.
“Is this dinner?”
At Baekgyeong’s question, Ian checked his watch.
“It’s 4:21 p.m.... So let’s call it a late lunch or early dinner.”
“Four p.m., huh.”
Baekgyeong twisted his lips in irritation. It felt like well past midnight, and yet he hadn’t even made it to dinner.
While he was wasting away helplessly in a cell, Siron was wandering the island freely—unguarded, surrounded by alphas. Thinking about it, Baekgyeong was reminded of a bird tied to a short string, endlessly circling over a pit of crocodiles.
Unable to fly higher or land on the ground, flapping endlessly until it inevitably plummeted and was torn apart by the waiting jaws. The surge of anxiety made his head throb.
“Let me out of here.”
“Again with this,” Ian muttered, shaking his head in annoyance.
“I don’t need a roof. I’ll work outside all day in the blazing sun if I have to.”
“Then ask for a TV instead.”
Baekgyeong, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep since yesterday, lifted his gaze and glared at Ian through the surveillance slit.
“I can’t stay here anymore. It’s like there’s a fog in my brain—I can’t even decode properly.”
“I gave you a new toy to keep you from getting bored. You should focus.”
“That bastard!”
Baekgyeong shouted, but then shut his mouth and added after a pause:
“That bastard’s a necessity. If I have to stare at white walls all day, I need at least that much stimulation to stay sane.”
Ian looked at Baekgyeong’s face, sullen with resentment. Shirtless, wearing only pants, Baekgyeong was slouched against the wall inside the cell. His belt was unfastened, his branded underwear peeking through, and his lean, muscled abdomen looked like intersecting steel bars. Even his messy hair seemed effortlessly stylish—like something out of an underwear ad.
And the black bomb collar around his neck only made him look more like an untamed beast in a leash.
“Why are you glaring like that instead of answering?” Ian said.
Ah, he must have stared too intently. Ian deliberately froze his face like ice.
“Crack the code. You leave the cell after that.”
Baekgyeong abruptly stood and leaned forward so his eyes aligned with the surveillance slit.
“I don’t even know if it’s day or night, if it’s raining or boiling outside—how the fuck am I supposed to think straight in here? I’ll be lucky not to rip this bomb off in a fit! Fuck! You want me to decode it too, don’t you?”
Baekgyeong was ranting and issuing veiled threats, but he was so transparent it wasn’t even amusing. Ian let out a dry laugh.
“Why not just be honest?”
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“You’re worried about 3543.”
“The hell are you on about?”
“Well, I’d be worried too. Things got pretty dicey today.”
“...Dicey? What do you mean by that?”
Ian dropped the line deliberately and went silent. Furious, Baekgyeong kicked the iron door and screamed profanities.
“Answer me, fucker!”
Ian had done it on purpose—hooked him, but withheld the details.
“You’re better off not knowing.”
“Tell me what happened!”
Every time Baekgyeong pounded his fist against the iron door, the echo of the impact reverberated down the hallway. After a long silence fell over the corridor, Ian finally spoke.
“You two have known each other for a long time, haven’t you?”
“That’s bullshit.”
Ian found it funny. If Baekgyeong really didn’t want anyone to know 3543 was his weakness, he shouldn’t have looked at him with such burning eyes.
“I saw everything on CCTV. Last night—you two, clinging to each other.”
“What the fuck?”
Baekgyeong bared his teeth, eyes sharp as blades, glaring at Ian. Ian took a step back from the iron door, out of grabbing range.
“You were so desperate it looked one-sided. 3543’s face when he came? What a view.”
It was like sparks flew from Baekgyeong’s eyes. He slammed his fist into the door so hard it bent.
“You fucking perverted psycho! I’ll gouge out your goddamn—!”
“Do you want out of here?”
Ian cut him off coldly. Just as expected, the blade he swung sliced Baekgyeong’s tongue and rendered him mute.
“Then be useful. At the very least, you should be able to satisfy someone like me.”
Baekgyeong’s eyes trembled for a moment.
“Satisfy? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Show me more,” Ian said, in a tone as calm as water.
“I want to see 3543 sucking your cock. All the way to the base, until he’s crying and snotting.”
“Shut your fucking mouth.”
“Fuck him too. Cream him good in that little hole of his. Hell, shove your balls in too. Notting would be nice—watch that flat belly of his swell up.”
Even Baekgyeong, who didn’t flinch at most words, was stunned speechless. Ian felt a wave of delight. Sometimes, another’s disgust was the best kind of pleasure.
Ian used to feel awkward looking people in the eye, but now he couldn’t blink fast enough. He stared wide-eyed at Baekgyeong, savoring the moment.
“Think I’m too much? I’m not. That’s how most of the betas kidnapped to this island get treated.”
Ian stepped closer to the cell door that separated them. For some reason, he almost wanted Baekgyeong to grab him by the collar. Masking his glee under a facade of calm, he whispered:
“If you don’t want that, start jerking off right now. In front of me.”
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