They weren't the industry. They were the glitch in the system.
Logic dictated I run.
Biology, the humming, golden thread that now connected my sternum to theirs, dictated I stay.
"Okay," I said.
The word dropped into the silence like a stone in a pond.
"Okay?" Alfie looked up, eyes wet and wide. "Just... okay?"
"No, not just okay." I handed the phone back to Euan. "It's a mess. The signal-to-noise ratio is critical. But we're not going to let the feedback loop kill the speakers."
I walked over to the kitchenette island. My legs were sore, a deep, muscular ache in my thighs and hips that reminded me exactly what we’d been doing six hours ago. It was a good ache. It felt like ownership.
"Cal," I called out, though I knew he wasn't in the room.
The curtain to the Beta bunk slid open instantly. Cal appeared, looking rumpled but alert, like he’d been waiting for the summons.
"Tea?" he asked.
"Laptop," I corrected. "And tea. Strong. If you don't mind?"
I climbed onto one of the bar stools. It was uncomfortable. I shifted my weight, wincing slightly.
Immediately, three Alphas moved.
Kit was there first, sliding a cushion from the banquette under me before I could even ask. Euan adjusted the air vent above my head. Alfie scrambled to my side, resting his chin on the counter near my elbow, looking up at me like I held the keys to his execution.
"You're staying?" Alfie whispered.
"I haven't packed, have I?" I opened Cal's laptop as he slid it across the counter. "Gareth Blake wants to sell a romance? Fine. But he’s trying to sell a fairy tale. We’re going to give him a documentary."
"I don't follow," Kit said, leaning against the fridge, crossing his tattooed arms.
"He used the hashtag #RiotRomance," I analyzed, pointing at the screen. "He’s trying to frame this as a band dating their cute little helper. He wants to infantilize the dynamic so he can monetize it. If we let him define the story, I become the groupie you guys kept as a pet."
A low growl rumbled in Kit’s chest. "You're not a pet. You're the Pack Leader."
"I know that. You know that. The internet thinks I'm a pair of legs and a secret." I logged into the backend of the Riot Theory website. I had admin privileges. Euan had given them to me in week one so I could fix audio uploads.
"We control the signal," I said, typing furiously. "We don't deny the bond. Denying it makes it look like a scandal. We own it. But we own it aspolicy."
"Policy?" Alfie blinked.
"Boundaries are punk," I quoted him. "You said it. You sang it. So we make this about the work. We make this about the music."
I pulled up the draft of the Omega-Safe Rider that Rowan and I had been working on in secret. It was messy, full of redlines and comments, but the core was there.
Clause 1: Scent Neutrality in Workspace.
Clause 2: The Right to Disconnect (Exit Clauses).
Clause 3: Credit Integrity.
"We leak portions of the rider," I said. "We don't confirm who the Omega is. We verify that yes, Riot Theory tours with an Omega producer, andthisis how you treat them."
Euan’s eyes lit up. The systems brain was coming online. "We pivot from gossip to advocacy. If the conversation is about industry standards, the speculation about your identity becomes secondary to the political statement."
