"We told her she holds the leash," Euan insisted.
"You yelled it at her," Cal pointed out gently. "While standing in a formation that looked a lot like a blockage."
I winced. He was right. We'd cornered her to tell her she was free. Classic Riot Theory logic.
"She's in back," Cal continued, reaching for the mugs. "She didn't pack. I heard the curtain slide. No heavy luggage movement. She's hiding, not leaving."
"I said that," I muttered.
"Yes, but you said it with hope," Cal countered. "I'm saying it as a fact. She's waiting for the other shoe to drop. She's waiting for you to come down there and 'manage' her reaction."
"We're not going down there," Alfie said. "We're staying put."
"Good," Cal said. "But staying put isn't enough. You need to retreat. Properly."
"Retreat where?" Euan asked. "This is a vehicle. The linear footage is limited."
"We vacate the space," I realized, looking at Cal. "If she comes out, she needs to see an open field. Not three Alphas vibrating in the lounge like landmines."
Cal nodded. "I'll stay here. I'm just the bassist. I'm just making tea. I'm not a biological threat. You lot go to the front. Or the bunks. Just... clear the line of sight."
"We can't just leave her alone," Alfie argued. "She'll think we don't care."
"She knows you care, Alfie," Cal sighed, pouring boiling water. "You literally told her sleeping near her was the highlight of your existence. Subtlety has gathered its things and left the building. What she needs now is proof that your care doesn't come with cuffs."
I looked at the hallway. The dark mouth leading to the back bunk.
"We leave a note," I said. The idea hit me solid. "We can't speak to her without pushing. So we write it down. Like the rider. Like the contract."
Euan’s eyes lit up. "Documentation. Asynchronous communication. It allows her to process the input without the pressure of immediate response."
"Exactly," I said. I looked around for paper. Euan ripped a page out of his tech notebook, grid paper, naturally, and slapped it on the table.
"What do we say?" Alfie asked, hovering over the paper like he wanted to bleed onto it.
"Keep it technical," Euan said, grabbing a pen. His hand was shaking, but he forced it steady. "State the parameters. Why we are leaving. Why she is safe."
He wrote quickly. Sharp, jagged architectural script.
Euan’s pen scratched against the grid paper like a needle finding the groove in vinyl. He wasn’t writing poetry. He was writing a perimeter.
"State the facts," I murmured, leaning over his shoulder. I could smell the burnt-sugar panic coming off Alfie, who was hovering on Euan’s other side, vibrating like a plucked string. "Don't make it a manifesto."
"I am currently listing technical constraints," Euan muttered, the pen moving in sharp, angry strokes. "1. Zero-proximity enforced. 2. Common areas vacated. 3. Exit route unobstructed."
"It’s too cold," Alfie argued, reaching for the paper. "It reads like a parking ticket. Tell her... tell her not to be scared."
I caught Alfie’s wrist before he could smudge the ink. His pulse was thumping against my thumb, erratic, rabbit-fast. "If you tell her not to be scared, she’ll wonder why she should be. You don't tell someone the scaffolding is safe; you just don't shake it."
Alfie slumped, letting me guide his hand back to his side. "I hate this. I hate leaving her back there alone thinking we’re monsters."
"She doesn't think we're monsters," Cal said from the counter, dropping a tea bag into a mug with a softplop. "She thinks you're three blokes who just told her gravity works differently around you. Give her a minute to adjust her physics."
Euan finished writing and capped the pen. He looked at the note, then at me. It was sparse. Clinical.
We are moving to the front cab. The lounge is yours. The exit is yours. We wait on your signal. - The Band.
"It’s proper," I said, nodding. It wasn't soft, but soft wasn't what Zia needed right now. She needed solid ground. "Cal, deliver it?"
