I sat up. The movement made my head spin, but clarity was cutting through the fever.
I reached into my back pocket. I felt the edge of the Exit Card. It was still there. Always there. I could pull the ripcord anytime.
But for the first time, the card felt cold. Lifeless.
I didn't want to exit. I wanted to mix.
I stood up. My legs were shaky, like I’d been at sea for weeks. I grabbed my hoodie, well, Euan's hoodie, the one that smelled like roasted tea and brittle, and pulled it on over my t-shirt. It smelled faint now, scrubbed by the laundry, but the ghost of him was still in the fabric.
I got out of my bunk and ripped the tape off the floor. The sound was loud in the quiet bus.Riiiiiip.Then I balled it up and threw it in the trash.
The corridor was dark. The door to the front lounge was closed.
I walked toward it. I didn't sneak. I let my boots hit the floor.Thud. Thud.
I reached the lounge door. I could hear them inside. No voices. just breath. The squeak of leather. The clink of a mug.
I rested my hand on the handle.
My skin was burning. My scent was leaking, I knew it, spilling out of me in waves of neon citrus lightning.
I didn't knock.
I opened the door.
The air in the lounge was thick. Heavy. It hit me like a physical wall—a dense, swirling mix of blackberry, espresso, and tea. It was intoxicating. It made my knees knock together.
They were all there.
Alfie was on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, head down.
Kit was sprawled on the sofa, arm over his eyes.
Euan was sitting at the table, staring at a blank laptop screen.
Cal was in the corner, reading a book, though he hadn't turned a page in what looked like hours.
When the door opened, they all froze.
Alfie’s head snapped up. His eyes were red-rimmed, pupils blown so wide his eyes looked entirely black.
Euan turned slowly, like a turret.
Kit lowered his arm.
They stared at me. They looked at the open door. Then they looked at me again, waiting for the command to retreat, for the accusation, for the fear.
I stood in the doorway, swaying slightly. I let the hoodie slide off one shoulder.
"The protocol," I rasped. My voice was barely a whisper, but in the silence, it was a shout.
"Protocol is 'Do-Nothing'," Kit said, his voice rough. He started to sit up, hands raising to show palms. "We're holding, Z. We're not moving."
"Override," I said.
The word hung in the air.
Euan blinked. "Clarify override parameters."
