LIVE: IS IT TRUE THERE’S AN OMEGA TOURING WITH THREE ALPHAS? FATED?? #BlackberryBond
The air in the room vanished.
On the preview screen, I saw Alfie go rigid. His smile didn't just fade; it fell off his face. Euan stopped blinking. Kit looked like he was calculating the structural integrity of Nate’s neck.
The chat exploded. It moved so fast it became a blur of color, purple, red, screaming caps.
@User887: IT’S TRUE ISNT IT
@AlphaKingStan: OMEGA OMEGA OMEGA
@ShipItHard: SHOW US THE BOND BITE
@HeatWatch: Is she in heat right now? Is that why she’s hidden?
My breath hitched. The vocoder caught the sound and turned it into a digital glitch.
The studio suddenly felt freezing. The lemon-drizzle scent soured, spiking with the ozone of burning electronics.
"Whoa," Nate laughed, a nervous, high-pitched sound. "Chat is thirsty today! So, Fox... Z... rumors are rumors, but the chemistry is undeniable. Care to comment on the, uh, designation speculation?"
He was smiling. He thought this was content. He thought my biology was a plot twist.
I looked at the Exit Card in my pocket. I could play it. I could cut the feed, walk out the back door, and disappear into the London rain.
But then I saw Alfie.
He was gripping the mic so hard the plastic housing was creaking. He was staring at the camera lens with a ferocity that usually preceded a riot. He was about to explode. He was about to defend me, and in doing so, he would confirm everything.
No.
I wasn't a damsel. I was the producer.
I engaged the direct line.
"Nate."
My voice came out flat. The Seattle cadence cut through the hype like a razor through silk. I didn't raise the volume. I heavily compressed the dynamic range so every syllable hit with equal, brutal weight.
"My designation isn't your business."
Nate blinked. "Whoa, okay, feisty! We’re just asking?—"
"Heat isn't a brand activation," I continued, overriding him. "I am here to ensure the audio quality of this broadcast. I am not consenting to a claim, on or off camera."
Silence.
Absolute, dead air silence on the stream.
Then Alfie moved.
He didn't look at Nate. He looked straight into the lens, straight at me, or where I would be if I wasn't just pixels and code.
"Copy that," Alfie said. His voice was bright, dangerous, and loud. "Boundaries are punk."
He leaned forward, taking up the whole frame.
"Donate to the cause," he snapped, pointing at the charity link. "Don't demand access to people's bodies. If you're here for the music, stay. If you're here to hunt, jog on."
