"You good on your own," he asked, the words rough, "or d’you want Rowan?"
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.
They left.
They smelled the spike, they must have, if I felt this bad, the air around me must be saturated with distress signals, and instead of claiming the space, they abandoned it.
They retreated.
"Rowan," I choked out. I didn't know if the talkback mic was latched. I hoped it was. "Meds. Please."
"Copy that," Alfie whispered.
The channel cut.
I slid down to the floor, putting the solid bulk of the mixing console between me and the rest of the world. The concrete was cold against my legs. I pulled my knees to my chest, burying myface in the oversized hoodie I was wearing. It smelled faintly of sesame brittle. Euan’s. I hadn't even realized.
The scent didn't make me panic. It grounded me.
Four in. Six out.
I focused on the rhythm. On the silence.
They could be here in seconds. They were Alphas. Speed and strength were their currency. They could have vaulted the barrier, surrounded me, scented me, taken control of the biological disaster unfolding in my bloodstream.
But the stage remained empty.
Light footsteps clicked on the concrete. Not heavy boots. Trainers.
"Coming in," Rowan’s voice called out, clear and professional. "Just me. Eyes up, Z."
She rounded the corner of the Front of House booth. She looked immaculate as always, sharp blazer, pencil that doubled as a stylus behind her ear, but her eyes were scanning me with laser focus. She smelled of peppermint and graphite. Cool, clean, Beta neutrality.
She didn't coo. She didn't fuss. She knelt beside me, blocking the line of sight to the open doors, creating a privacy screen with her body.
"Level seven?" she asked, pulling a small, heavy case from her bag.
"Eight," I gasped. "It broke through. The blockers just... stopped."
"Right. Metabolism accelerated by the stress and the proximity." She popped the seal on a vile. It hissed. "Upgraded dose. Fast-acting. Drink."
I took the vial with shaking hands. It tasted like bitter lemons and chalk. I gagged, but forced it down.
Rowan handed me a water bottle, not mine, a fresh one, seal cracked. "Wash it down."
I drank. The cool liquid hit my stomach and the chemical reaction was almost instant. The fire in my veins began to recede, dialed down from a roar to a simmer. The blur at the edges of my vision sharpened back into focus.
"Better?" Rowan watched me, her hands resting on her knees, not touching me.
"Yeah," I breathed. "Yeah. It’s... receding."
She nodded, efficient as ever. Then she reached into her blazer pocket and pulled out a small, cream-colored envelope.
"Alfie wanted to run in here," she said, her voice low. "He made it about three feet before Kit tackled him and Euan locked the stage door. He wrote this while Cal was shouting at them to breathe."
She slid the envelope across the floor.
I stared at it. My name, Z, was scrawled on the front in black Sharpie. The handwriting was jagged, rushed.
