"Load-in is finished," Euan said, seemingly talking to the empty corridor, though I knew he was visually checking the cable runs along the wall. "House engineer has the updated patch list."
"Good," I said. My voice sounded steady, professional. The Producer. "I want to check the vocal compression on Alfie’s in-ears. He was shouting in the car."
Alfie spun around, walking backward down the hallway, a grin splitting his face. The adrenaline of the press line had dilated his pupils until his eyes were almost black. "I wasn't shouting, Fox. I was projecting."
"You were peaking," I corrected. "And if you blow out your voice before the third track, I’m not fixing it in post."
He stopped, letting me close the distance. He radiated heat like a furnace. "Fix me now, then."
"Not here," Kit warned, though there was no bite in it. He steered us past a group of venue staff who were trying very hard not to stare.
A guy in a faded hoodie, the house monitor tech, if the lanyard was right, stepped out of a side room. He froze as thephalanx bore down on him, his eyes darting to the heavy binder Euan was carrying under one arm.
"Uh, excuse me," the tech said.
Kit shifted, ready to intercept, but I held up a hand. "Yeah?"
The guy swallowed, looking at me. Not at Alfie. Not at the famous faces. At me.
"The Rider," he said, gesturing vaguely to a tablet in his hand. "The download link went live ten minutes ago. We... the local crew, I mean. We just read the 'Scent-Neutral Workspace' clause."
I braced myself. I expected pushback. I expected the usual industry eyeroll about divas and demands.
"We've got the localized HEPA units set up at FOH for you," the guy said, rushing the words. "And we cleared the designated quiet zone in the green room. Just... wanted to say thanks. My sister is an Omega audio tech. She quit touring last year because nobody would do this."
The hallway went dead silent.
Alfie’s grin softened into something sharper, prouder. Euan adjusted the binder, nodding once, a king acknowledging a tribute.
"Proper," Kit said, clapping the guy on the shoulder hard enough to make him wince. "We like the HEPA units running at sixty percent until showtime. Keep the airflow positive."
"Right. On it." The tech scrambled away.
I stood there for a second, the neon flowers crinkling in my grip. The marks on my neck warmed under the high collar of my shirt, throbbing in time with my pulse. We hadn't just claimed each other in a private room with a lawyer present. We were rewriting the code of the entire machine.
"Asset secure?" Euan asked softly, stepping up beside me. His scent, toasted tea and sesame, curled around me, grounding the floaty feeling in my head.
"System stable," I replied, looking up at them. "Let’s go make some noise."
Alfie whooped, turning on his heel and sprinting toward the dressing room. "Soundcheck in ten! I want the reverb wet enough to drown in!"
"Dry vocal," I shouted after him. "Don't you dare touch that reverb dial!"
"Make me!" he yelled back, disappearing around the corner.
I looked at Kit and Euan. Kit rolled his eyes, but his hand brushed my lower back, his thumb hooking into the belt loop of my cargo pants for a fleeting second.
"Yours to handle, Boss," Kit said.
"I'll manage the signal flow," Euan added, checking his watch. "You manage the talent."
"I thoughtIwas the talent today," I said, raising an eyebrow.
Euan’s gaze dropped to my covered neck, then back to my eyes. The look was heavy, possessive, and terrifyingly clinical.
"You're the architecture, Z," he said quietly to only me. "Without you, we're just noise."
EPILOGUE
