"Done," Kit said immediately.
"Two, nobody touches me without a verbal check-in first. Even if I look like I want it.Especiallyif I look like I want it."
"Baseline," Alfie whispered. "Absolute baseline."
"Three," I said, turning to Euan. "You really built a HEPA filter system into a tour bus?"
Euan nodded, a faint flush touching his cheekbones. "Six air changes per hour. We can boost it to eight if the pressure differential is too high."
"Show me," I said.
It was an invitation. A small one. A technical one. But an invitation nonetheless.
Euan stood up slowly, telegraphing the movement. He didn't come closer. He gestured toward a panel near the floor. "It's integrated into the chassis flow."
I walked over. I knelt down next to the panel. It put me within three feet of him.
I could feel the heat radiating off him. I could see the way his fingers curled into his palms perfectly visible, safe, keeping distance.
"It's good work," I murmured, tracing the vent grill.
"It's necessary work," he replied, his voice low.
I looked up. They were all watching me. Not like a predator watches prey. Like a navigator watches the North Star.
"I'm staying for the UK leg," I said. "As a trial."
"Copy that," Alfie said, his voice thick.
"We'll need to set up your workstation," Kit said, already reaching for a cable but stopping himself. "Whenever you're ready."
"I'm ready now."
I stood up. I took the tea Cal had given me and set it on the table.
"Four in, six out," I said to the room.
Alfie’s eyes widened. He knew the pattern. He’d heard it on the stream.
"Four in, six out," he repeated, matching his breathing to the count.
I pulled my hoodie tighter around me.
"Let's get to work," I said. "This rig isn't going to calibrate itself."
And for the first time in ten years, the silence that followed didn't feel lonely. It felt like a rest beat before the drop.
SEVEN
Euan
The probability of a triple Alpha scent-match occurring simultaneously on a single target is practically impossible. Given the deviation of our individual genetic markers, Alfie’s chaotic volatility, Kit’s grounding earth tones, my own sterile structure, the variables shouldn't align. The statistical likelihood of us all locking onto one scent-blind Omega in the same hallway, at the same second, is roughly equivalent to a lightning strike hitting a winning lottery ticket while a meteor lands on it.
It is 3:00 AM. The bus is vibrating at a frequency of 50 Hz. The bunk above me, Kit’s, is silent.
I can't sleep. The math refuses to resolve.
Logic dictates the match is an anomaly. A sensor error. A collective hallucination inducing mass hysteria in the pack.
