He wasn't wrong.
The stage looked like a bomb had gone off in a music store. Cables everywhere, some still sparking where they'd been yanked wrong, probably by whoever had panicked during the power surge. The drum riser tilted at an angle that defied physics, one corner propped up with what looked like a folded pizza box. Monitor wedges faced random directions like they'd been arranged by someone blindfolded and dizzy, or possibly just deeply committed to chaos. I could see at least three separate signal paths that had been crossed, tangled, and possibly blessed by some roadie who thought prayer was an acceptable substitute for proper gain staging.
"Jesus." I set down my tea carefully on the one stable surface I could find, a road case labeled 'FRAGILE' in three languages, and started cataloging the damage. My fingers itched for my tablet, for the familiar comfort of documentation. "Did they try to fix this with a hammer?"
"Wouldn't put it past them." Cal's mouth twitched, almost-smile territory. "Alfie once tried to fix feedback by yelling at it."
Despite everything, despite the weird contract negotiation, despite the three Alphas who'd practically fled when I approached, despite the strange careful distance everyone was maintaining, I almost laughed. "Did it work?"
"Depends on your definition of work." Cal crouched down to examine a particularly vicious cable knot, not touching it, just looking. "The feedback stopped. The monitors didn't survive."
I pulled out my tablet and started documenting signal paths, building a mental map of what needed to be torn down and rebuilt from scratch. The three Alphas were nowhere to be seen, probably still having their "productive panic" elsewhere, whatever that meant.
Good. Their absence made it easier to breathe, to think, to ignore the way they'd all stepped back when I'd moved toward the console earlier. Like I was contaminated. Like my Omegascent was something to avoid, something dangerous, something that required a ten-foot radius of empty space.
The memory stung more than it should have. I'd built my whole career on being invisible, untouchable, just a voice through the wire.
Anonymous.
Safe.
But the way they'd fled when I got close, the way their bodies had gone rigid before they'd scattered...
It wasn't fear of me.
It was fearforme.
Somehow that felt worse.
Four in. Six out.
"Right then." I cracked my knuckles and got to work, the familiar ritual of preparation before diving into technical surgery. "Let's teach this rig how to behave."
Three hours later, I'd rebuilt their entire signal chain from scratch. The monitors sang clean, no more mud in the low-mids, no harsh sibilance eating the high end. The in-ears purred with that sweet balanced response that meant artists could actuallyhearthemselves instead of just drowning in reverb and hope. The main PA could probably wake the dead if needed, every frequency range sitting in its proper pocket. My fox-tail watermark sat hidden in the mix architecture, a little spectrogram signature nobody would see unless they knew where to look, a tiny rebellion against invisibility. Proof I'd been here. Proof I'd fixed this.
"That's brilliant." Cal had been watching from a respectful distance the entire time, close enough to help if asked, far enough to give me space to work. He'd refilled my tea twice without being asked, the fresh mug just appearing at my elbow. "You've made it sound like it actually wants to be here."
"Equipment has feelings." I adjusted the last compressor threshold, watching the gain reduction meter dance in response to my test signal. "Most people just don't listen."
The door opened with a creak of old hinges.
All three Alphas appeared in the doorway but didn't cross the threshold. They hung back like there was an invisible wall, a force field keeping them out, an uncrossable boundary line. Alfie's hands twitched at his sides, fingers drumming against his thighs in what looked like barely restrained energy. Euan had gone statue-still, that unsettling Alpha focus that could read as predatory if you didn't know better. Kit gripped the doorframe hard enough that his knuckles went white, rings catching the stage lights.
"All fixed," I said, not looking at them directly, keeping my eyes on the console because that was safer somehow. "Your rig will behave now."
"Brilliant." Alfie's voice came out rough, scraped raw. "That's... yeah. Brilliant."
They kept standing there. Not moving closer. Not even leaning in to check my work, to verify that I'd actually fixed the problems and not just rearranged the disaster into a prettier shape. The message was clear,We hired your skills, not you. Keep your distance. Don't make this complicated.
Fine. I could do distance. I'd been doing distance my whole career.
Distance was safe. Distance was professional. Distance meant no wellness provisions, no caretaker clauses, no Alpha hands deciding what I needed before I'd even asked.
Rowan appeared with her tablet and a smile sharp enough to cut glass, the kind of expression that probably made label executives reconsider their life choices. "Contracts ready. Shall we?"
She led me to a green room that had been cleared of everything except a table, two chairs, and absolutely zero Alpha presence. The space felt clinical, careful, like they'd sanitized it before I arrived, not just physically, but energetically. No lingering Alpha scent, no testosterone-charged air, no assumption that I'd want their presence. Even the furniture looked neutral, utilitarian, the finest commitment to absolute blandness.
"Standard engagement agreement." She slid the tablet across the table, the gesture businesslike and precise. "Take your time."
