Alfie caught me. He didn't grab my arm; he wrapped his body around mine, tackling me gently back into the pillows. He buried his face in my neck, right over the claim mark he’d left there, and keened. A high, distressed sound that halted my panic in its tracks.
"Don't run," Alfie begged, his voice cracking. "Please, fox. Don't run. We’re the wall. Use the wall."
"I can't stay here," I sobbed, fighting his hold weakly. "It's breached. The bubble is popped."
"The digital perimeter is breached," Euan stated, standing up. He was naked, glorious in his rage, unbothered by it. He looked like a statue of vengeance carved from marble. "The physical perimeter is secure. Nobody enters this bus. Nobody touches you."
"Euan's right," Kit said, moving to cover my back, sandwiching me between them. "Physical security is absolute. Tammy Rook is outside. We haven't stopped moving. We're a moving target."
"You don't understand," I gasped, pressing my face into Alfie’s chest. "I builteverythingon being invisible. If I'm visible, I'm just... I'm just an Omega engineer with a history of 'difficult behavior'. I lose the work. I lose the credit."
"You don't lose us," Kit growled into my hair.
"I loseme!" I screamed. The sound tore my throat. "I become 'the Omega touring with Riot Theory.' I become a designation, not a producer!"
Silence rang in the room.
Then, Euan moved to the small desk in the corner where his laptop sat charging. He cracked it open. The blue light bathed his sharp features.
"Rowan," Euan said. "Speakerphone. Now."
He didn't wait for approval. He dialed.
It rang once.
"Report," Rowan’s voice cut through the air. Crisp. Awake. She sounded like she was standing in a war room.
"Containment breach," Euan said. "Z's been doxxed. Severity Level 1. Real name. History."
"I see it," Rowan said. The sound of furious typing chattered in the background. "It hit the forums twelve minutes ago. It’s migrating to Twitter now. I’ve got a kill-switch on the official Riot Theory socials, comments are locked."
"Who did it?" Kit demanded, leaning over me towards the phone, his body heat radiating fury.
"Digital footprint suggests a freelancer," Rowan said, her voice cold as ice. "Handle is NightCrawler. Low-rent data broker. But someone paid the fee. Someone with industry specific knowledge."
"Miles Green," Euan said. It wasn't a guess.
"Miles Green?" Alfie lifted his head, tears streaking his face but his eyes burning with murder. "That Beta prick from the rival network? The one who tried to poach us in '19?"
"He uses NightCrawler for opposition research," Euan confirmed. "He favors creating instability in tour dynamics. Disrupt the pack, ruin the show."
"He thinks outing her will break us," Kit realized. "He thinks we'll scramble to do damage control and drop the ball on the tour."
"He thinks I'll run," I whispered.
The realization settled over me like a cold blanket. This wasn't just gossip. It was tactical. Miles Green knew the weak point of any Omega in a high-stakes environment: flight risk.
"Are you running, Zia?" Rowan asked. Her voice softened, just a fraction.
I looked at the three men surrounding me.
Alfie, who had just spent hours worshiping my body, now looking ready to burn the world down to keep my name out of its mouth.
Kit, who had built a fortress out of his own body to keep me safe.
Euan, who was currently engaging in cyber-warfare while naked.
I looked at the drawer with the blue tape.
