"Confirmed," Euan said quietly. He wasn't looking at me; he was looking at his hands. "The efficiency of the unit... the coherence. It was optimal."
I stared at them.
Three Alphas. A triple match. A biological impossibility standing in a tour bus lounge, looking at me like I was the sun and they were just planets hoping not to burn up.
And me? The girl with the white noise machines and the triple locks?
I felt... seen.
And it terrified me.
If they had matched, that meant they weren't just holding back politeness. They were holding back an avalanche. Theywere holding back a biological imperative to claim, mark, and keep.
Every "Do-Nothing," every time they turned their back, every time Kit sat on his hands or Euan stared at a wall... that wasn't just respect. That was torture. They were torturing themselves to keep me comfortable.
The weight of that landed on my shoulders like a collapsed rig.
"I..." I started, but my throat closed up.
What was the protocol for this? There was no folder for "Accidental Soulmates." There was no fader I could pull down to lower the intensity.
"You're doing it again," I said, my voice rising, bordering on frantic. "You're managing me. You kept it secret to manage the output."
"We kept it secret to give you agency," Euan countered, stepping forward. "Variable data affects decision making. If you knew we were compromised, you would have fled. The logic holds."
"I'm not a variable!" I snapped, backing up until I hit the doorframe. "And I'm not a project!"
"We know!" Alfie shouted, the volume shocking the room. "We know you're not a project! You're the bloody producer, Zia! You're the one running the show!"
He stopped, chest heaving. He looked devastated.
"We're not trying to trap you," he whispered. "We're trying to show you that you hold the leash. You always have."
It was too much. The colors in my head were spiking, jagged reds, screaming yellows. The air in the lounge felt suddenly thin.
Biology. Logic. Emotion. It was a mix I couldn't balance. Not yet.
"I need..." I gasped. "I need a minute."
"Take it," Kit said immediately, stepping back. "Take hour. Take the day. We're not moving."
"I can't be here," I said, turning blindly for the door. "I need to process."
I spun around and bolted.
I didn't run to the exit. I ran back to the darkness of the rear bunk.
I threw myself inside, scrambling over the messy duvet, and yanked the curtain shut with a force that threatened to rip the rail out of the ceiling. I huddled in the corner, pulling the comforter over my head, creating a cave.
Four in. Six out.
Triple match.
Best night of their lives.
Holding the leash.
My hands were shaking so hard I dropped my phone twice before I managed to unlock it.
