"Copy that," Kit said, unwinding himself from the pile. He stood up, shamelessly naked, stretching his massive frame until his joints popped. The tattoos on his torso seemed to shift in the dim light. "Euan, find the nearest Welcome Break. Alfie, find pants. Z, stay there. Do not move."
"I wasn't planning on it," I muttered, sinking back into the pillows.
As they scattered to fulfill the mission, pants, navigation, milkshake acquisition, I reached for my tablet again. The screen lit up, harsh and bright in the dim lounge.
The notifications from the doxxing were still there, buried under a new avalanche.
But the tone had shifted.
I opened the band’s official feed. The "Manifesto" track, my raw, unpolished mix of Alfie’s confession, had dropped two hours ago.
@RiotTheory: For the Engineer who stayed. Mix by FoxTail. #BoundariesArePunk
I scrolled the comments. I braced myself for the vitriol, for the "she's just a hole" comments, for the industry dismissal.
@AudioNerd44: Okay but can we talk about the compression on that vocal? That isn't a demo mix. That’s surgical. FoxTail knows their signal chain.
@PunkQueen: The lyrics. 'We want to learn, not take.' Finally someone said it. If this is what the Omega Rider produces, sign me up.
@BaseSlut4Cal: Wait, they doxxed her and she dropped a fire track in response? That’s the biggest power move I’ve ever seen. #FoxTailSupremacy
And buried in the noise, a retweet from a major industry trade publication:
@MusicWeek: Riot Theory release surprise demo credited to 'FoxTail.' Sources confirm this is Zia Vale, former Seattle engineer. The track coincides with rumors of a new 'Omega-Safe' touring standard being piloted by the band. Is this the future of industry riders?
They weren't talking about who I was sleeping with. They weren't talking about my heat cycle.
They were talking about thework.
"Euan," I called out.
He appeared in the doorway, pulling a t-shirt over his head. "We are five miles from services. Barry is signaling the exit."
"Look," I said, holding up the tablet.
He stepped into the room, leaning over my shoulder. The scent of him was grounding. He read the screen.
"Sentiment analysis shifted," he noted, his voice quiet. "Positive engagement is up 300%. The narrative pivoted."
"We did it," I whispered. "We actually pivoted the narrative."
"You did it," Alfie said, bounding back into the room, hopping on one leg as he pulled on his jeans. "You mixed it. You told us to release it. You told the press to jog on."
He dropped onto the edge of the bed, grabbing my hand and pressing the fox-tail drawing on his wrist to my lips.
"You're the revolution, Z. We're just the rhythm section."
I kissed his wrist, right over the pulse. "Don't sell the rhythm section short. I can't carry the melody without the beat."
The bus slowed, the hydraulics hissing as we pulled into the service station. The mundane reality of a parking lot brake squeal felt jarring after the intensity of the last few hours.
Kit returned from the front cab. He’d thrown on a hoodie and a beanie, looking every inch the incognito drummer.
"Right," Kit said. "Milkshake run. Alfie, you're coming. You look like you need to walk off some energy. Euan, hold the fort."
"Secure the asset," Euan corrected, sitting down on the edge of the nest.
"Bring fries," I added. "Salty ones."
