I took a step. My boots felt heavy.
Euan turned his head slightly. He didn't look at me fully, he kept his eyes averted, focusing on a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall.
"Visual on Subject," he murmured into his comms. "Moving to extraction point."
"Copy," Kit said, pushing off the wall. He didn't look at me either. "Walking point. Ten paces ahead. Clear lane."
They were escorting me. Without looking at me. Without touching me.
I followed them. It felt surreal. Usually, walking through a venue during load-out meant dodging roadies, stepping over cables, and keeping my head down to avoid eye contact. Tonight, the hallway partitions parted like the Red Sea.
"Gas leak," I heard a venue security guard mutter into his radio as we passed. "Yeah, big one. Smell's horrific. Stay clear of the green room."
I almost laughed. It would have sounded hysterical.Gas leak.Cal. Of course.
We burst out of the venue doors into the alley. The cool, damp English air hit my face, but it did nothing to cool the fever radiating from my skin.
The bus sat idling, a black monolith in the drizzle.
"Use the side door," Kit said, staring intently at the tire rim of the trailer. "Straight to the back. Euan’s got the scrubbers running on max."
I walked past them. As I neared the bus steps, I caught a flash of pink in the periphery.
Alfie was standing by the bay doors of the bus, smoking a cigarette with a shaking hand. He was staring at the sky, refusing to look in my direction. He looked devastated. Wrecked. Beautiful. It was the first time I'd ever seen him smoke. It wasn't a habit I was fond of, but I couldn't begrudge him some relief after what I'd just put him through.
"Thank you," I whispered as I passed him.
He flinched. He didn't turn. He just took a drag that made the cherry of his cigarette flare bright orange, the exact color of his voice when he sang low.
"Always, fox," he murmured to the clouds.
I fled onto the bus.
The back lounge was a wind tunnel.
Euan wasn't joking. The air filtration was roaring, cycling the air so fast it ruffled the papers taped to the walls. It smelled of nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just sterile, scrubbed oxygen.
I collapsed into my bunk and clawed the heavy curtain shut before I curled into a ball on the duvet.
I was safe. I was contained.
And I was absolutely, furiously burning.
My suppressants were in my bag. I reached for the bottle, my hand shaking so hard the pills rattled like maracas. I popped the cap. I dry-swallowed two upgrades.
Then I waited.
Usually, the chemical chill hit within twenty minutes. It was a distinct sensation, like a compressor clamping down on a wild signal, squashing the peaks, narrowing the dynamic range until everything was flat and grey.
Ten minutes passed.
Twenty.
Thirty.
The heat didn't drop. If anything, it got sharper. The grey fog of the medication tried to roll in, but the memory of Alfie’s voice.I’d find where you’re wet for me. It punched right through it like a transient spike.
My body had rejected the mute button. It wanted the volume all the way up.
