Cal leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. For the first time, he dropped the mild, tea-making bassist persona and looked at me with a sharpness that made me feel like I was in trouble with the teacher.
"Zia," he said softly. "Look where they are."
He pointed a slender finger at the closed cab door.
"They are three prime Alphas. They have a biological imperative screaming at them to claim you, protect you, and keep you in sight. Their instincts right now are probably comparable to a nuclear meltdown. And yet."
He gestured to the empty lounge.
"They are sitting in a box the size of a closet, clutching their knees, waiting foryouto tell them it's okay to breathe. They haven't blocked the door. They haven't hidden your shoes. They haven't confiscated your phone."
He held my gaze.
"The Exit Card only stops working if you decide you don't want to leave. And that’s not a trap, Z. That’s just finding a place you want to stay."
My chest tightened. Not the panic squeeze, but the ache of something expanding where there used to be a wall.
"They're terrified," I realized. "In the cab. They're scared I'm going to walk."
"Petrified," Cal confirmed. "Euan is currently calculating the probability of you getting off at the next service station. Last I heard, he was at 87% and rising."
"87%?" I muttered. "His algorithm is missing data."
"Which data?"
"Me." I took a sip of the tea. It settled warm in my stomach, chasing away the last of the hollow feeling. "He’s calculating based on a standard Omega response to aggressive pursuit. He’s not factoring in that I... that I liked the green room."
Cal smiled. It wasn't a smirk. It was genuine. "You liked the protocol."
"I liked that they didn't open the door," I said. "And I liked that they wanted to."
I stood up. The movement was sudden. The tea sloshed in the mug.
"I can't just... sit here," I said, pacing the length of the small rug. "I feel them. Through the wall. It’s like static interference on a recording. I can’t mix with this noise floor."
"So clear the signal," Cal suggested. He picked his book back up. "I'm just the bassist. I'm immovable furniture. You do what you need to do."
I looked at the cab door again.
Zero-proximity enforced.
They were following the rules I set. They were dying by the rules I set.
I walked over to the partition. I could hear them now, just barely. The sound of agitated breathing. The squeak of leather.
I imagined Alfie, crammed in that jump seat, pink coat bunched up, staring at the rain. I imagined Kit’s arm cramping as he held onto a grab handle to keep from falling on Euan. I imagined Euan, eyes closed, doing math to keep from screaming.
I raised my hand. I verified the Exit Card was still in my pocket. It was.
I knocked.
Three times.
Rap. Rap. Rap.
Silence from the other side. Then, a sudden scramble of movement, a thud of a knee hitting plastic, a muffled curse that sounded like Alfie.
The door didn't open. They were waiting for the signal.
