I was the producer. And I was about to run the most intense session of my life.
"Alfie," I called out.
He turned from the jump seat, eyes wide.
"Yeah, fox?"
"Write a setlist," I said. "For the distraction. If I'm going offline for three days, we need content to keep the press busy."
"Content?"
"Release the B-sides," I said. "Release the rehearsal tapes. Hell, write a new song if you have to. Just keep them looking at the music so they don't look at the house."
Alfie grinned. It was sharp. "Distraction pattern. I can do that."
"Good," I said, settling back against Euan’s shoulder. "Because once we get to London, the only thing I want to focus on is you three."
The rain lashed against the windows, blurring the lights of the passing cars into streaks of red and white. Inside, the air was warm, heavy with scent, and quiet save for the rumble of the road.
I closed my eyes.
One, two, three, four.
I counted the heartbeats in the room.
Every single one of them sounded like mine.
THIRTY-THREE
Kit
The notification light on my phone cut through the dark of the London living room like a laser sight. It was 03:00 exactly.
We weren't sleeping. You don't sleep during a siege; you wait. Alfie was pacing a trench into the plush carpet, his scent of burnt sugar so acrid it tasted like a kitchen fire. Euan was sitting on the floor with his back against the radiator, tracking data on a tablet that I knew he wasn’t actually reading.
I was just staring at the hallway that led to the master suite. The door was shut. Euan had soundproofed it, but he couldn't scent-proof physics. The smell leaking from under that door, neon citrus, ozone, and a heavy, slick sweetness that triggered a rumble deep in my chest, was a biological declaration of war.
My phone buzzed against the coffee table. One vibration. Short. Violent.
Alfie froze mid-stride. Euan’s head snapped up.
I picked it up. The screen brightness stung my eyes and I could just about make out Zia’s name.
Now.
One word. The only command that mattered.
"Movement," I said, my voice sounding like gravel tumbling in a dryer. I stood up, my joints popping. "We’re green."
Alfie was at the hallway entrance before I’d even unlocked my phone, vibrating so hard I thought he might phase through the wall. Euan was slower, methodical, checking his pockets, water tablets, cooling packs, sweat towels. The systems check before the launch.
We lined up at the door. Three Alphas, one biological imperative screamingbreach and claim, held in check by a contract and a promise.
I looked at Alfie. His pupils were blown so wide the gold was just a thin, desperate ring. "Breathe, Riot. Don't storm the castle."
"I'm breathing," he wheezed. "I'm trying not to inhale the entire postcode, but I'm breathing."
I raised my hand and knocked. Three distinct raps. The code.
