"Protocol override," I said to the door, feeling ridiculous and terrified and powerful all at once. "Come out."
The door slid open so fast it nearly jumped the track.
Alfie tumbled out first, practically falling into the lounge. He caught himself on the doorframe, his hair wild, his eyes wide and frantic. Kit unfolded himself from the floor like a gargoyle coming to life, stretching a cramp out of his shoulder with a wince. Euan stood up from the corner, straightening his jacket with a sharp tug, trying to regain dignity despite having been folded like origami.
They stood in a line. The "wall of Alpha" that usually made me check for exits.
But they looked... wrecked.
Alfie’s hands were shaking. Kit looked like he’d aged five years in an hour. Euan was vibrating.
They looked at me. Then they looked at the distance between us. Then they looked at Cal, checking for cues.
"You signaled," Euan said, his voice cracking on the second syllable.
"I did." I stood my ground. "Get in here. You look like you’ve been trapped in a blender."
"We were giving you the floor," Alfie said, breathless. "The note said?—"
"I read the note." I waved the grid paper. "Zero proximity. Very efficient."
"It was the only variable we could control," Euan said defensively.
"Sit down," I commanded. "Before you fall down."
They hesitated.
"Sit," I repeated, channeling the Voice of God I used on difficult drummers.
They sat. Alfie collapsed onto the rug at my feet. Kit took the far end of the banquette. Euan took the chair. They arranged themselves in a semi-circle, radiating heat and anxiety.
I stayed standing. I needed the height.
"We need to talk about the unicorn," I said.
Alfie blinked. "The... unicorn?"
"The triple match," I said. "Callie calls it a statistical unicorn. A biological anomaly."
"It's a nuisance is what it is," Kit grumbled, rubbing his shoulder. "Makes the insurance premiums absolute murder."
I looked at them. Really looked at them.
"You knew," I said. "And you didn't claim."
"We couldn't," Euan said simply. "Consent was not established."
"Biology is usually the consent," I countered. "In this industry? If an Alpha matches, they take. They assume the Omega will catch up eventually."
"We're not the industry," Alfie said fiercely from the floor. He looked up at me, his eyes burning gold. "We're us. And you're you. You're not a generic Omega slotting into a hole. You're the fox. If you don't choose it, it's not real."
"And if I'm scared?" I asked. "If I'm terrified that this bond means I lose my mix? That I lose my name?"
"Then we wait," Kit said. "We wait until you're not scared. Or until you realize we'd cut off our own hands before we'd touch your faders without asking."
I looked at the Exit Card in my mind. Then I looked at the three men in front of me.
Alfie, who wrote songs about not chasing.
