"On it." Kit leaned down, pressing a hard, quick kiss to my forehead. "Back in ten. Don't answer the phone unless it's Rowan."
When they left, the silence settled back in. But this time, it was shared. Euan picked up my hand, playing with my fingers, tracing the lines of my palm.
"Zia," he said softly.
"Yeah?"
"The predictive model."
I looked at him. "The one you showed me? The stress tracker?"
"No. The biological one." He didn't look at my face; he focused on my thumb joint. "Based on the intensity of the triple match... and the breakthrough spike you experienced in the green room... and the data from tonight..."
He paused.
"Spit it out, Euan."
He looked up. His grey eyes were serious, not cold, but heavy with information he couldn't engineer away.
"The heat you experienced wasn't a full cycle," he said. "It was a precursor. A bond-reaction spike."
My stomach did a slow roll. "Meaning?"
"Meaning the real heat is still inbound," he said. "My calculations put the onset at 24 to 48 hours. I shortened the window because of the stress of the doxxing... and because the energetic seal is open..."
"It's going to be worse," I finished.
"It's going to be exponential," he corrected. "The biological feedback loop between four matches implies an intensity that standard suppressants cannot mitigate."
I pulled my hand back, wrapping my arms around my stomach. The dull ache in my hips suddenly felt like a warning bell.
"Option B," I whispered. "Alfie offered Option B."
"We enacted a localized version of Option B tonight," Euan said. "For gratification. For connection. But a full heat... that requires logistics. That requires siege protocols."
I looked at the door. The doxxing was out there. Miles Green was burned, but the eyes were on us. The press knew my name.
And inside my body, a tidal wave was gathering that would make tonight's climax look like a ripple in a pond.
"We need Rowan," I said, reaching for my phone. "And we need to get to London. I can't do this in a service station parking lot."
"The schedule has us in London tomorrow night," Euan said. "The collab house."
"The house," I repeated.
I’d seen the specs. Euan’s fortress. A studio and living space designed for privacy.
"Is it ready?" I asked.
"The ventilation is online," Euan said. "The acoustic dampening is rated for industrial noise."
"Good," I said, unlocking my phone. "Because I think we're going to be loud."
I dialed Rowan.
She answered on the first ring.
"Tell me you didn't read the comments," she said instantly.
