"In the back lounge," Kit said. "I'll grab the easel."
We moved back to the "nest" room. While Kit set up a portable whiteboard against the wall, one they usually used for setlists, I sat on the edge of the bunk, holding a fresh mug of tea Cal had silently deposited at the door.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered, watching three grown men treat my intimacy preferences like a tactical assault plan.
"This is punk," Alfie corrected, uncapping a black marker and handing it to me. "You write the setlist, Producer. We just play the instruments."
I stood up. I faced the blank white board.
I wrote: FOXTAIL PROTOCOLS v2.0
Underneath, I wrote: Constraint 1: No assumption of access.
"Agreed," Kit rumbled.
Constraint 2: The Pack serves the Producer.
"Agreed," Euan said.
Constraint 3: Testing Phase Active.
I turned to them.
"We're going to run trials," I said, my producer voice coming back online, pushing past the lingering haze of the heat."Specific scenarios. Controlled environments. I want to know exactly what makes us tick before we get on stage again."
I looked at Kit.
"You're first."
Kit leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. The sleeves of his t-shirt strained against his biceps. "What's the test, Z?"
"Voice modulation," I said. "I want to see if you can talk me through... self-regulation. Without touching me."
The air in the room suddenly got much heavier. Euan stopped typing on his tablet. Alfie went very still.
"You want me to talk you off," Kit clarified, his voice dropping into the danger zone. "While they watch?"
"I want you to calibrate the instrument," I said, my pulse jumping in my throat. "Can you do it?"
Kit pushed off the wall. He took one step toward me, stopping at the edge of the nest.
"Get the notebook, Euan," Kit said, his eyes locked on mine. "We're going to need the data."
I swallowed hard.
"Okay," I whispered.
"Don't whisper," Kit commanded, soft and sharp. "State your intent clearly. Use your diaphragm."
A shiver violently ripped through me.There it was.The narcotic.
"Intent," I managed, my voice stronger. "Intent is calibration."
"Good lass," Kit murmured.
He gestured to the bed.
"Sit down. Legs open. Eyes on me."
