"Consultant," Stephen interjected. "Internal strategy. System analysis."
"We offer total shielding," Juno continued, his voice dropping into a lush, hypnotic cadence. "Physical protection provided by Mateo. Legal immunity provided by Stephen. And narrative control provided by me. You vanish from the publiceye. The scouts leave your mother alone because they can't find the scent trail."
"And what do I give you?" I asked, looking between them. "I’m a distinct liability."
"You know where the bodies are buried," Stephen said, his grey eyes gleaming. "You know the loopholes in the Wellness Riders. You know which executives sign the illegal waivers. You know the machine, Rowan, because you’ve been oiling the gears for ten years."
"We want the map," Juno said. "We want the names."
The realization hit me. They didn't want to save me. They wanted to weaponize me.
I looked at the photo of my mother's house. I looked at Mateo, who hadn't moved a muscle but whose eyes were tracking my pulse in my neck.
"Who are you people?" I demanded, my voice sharper than intended. "Lawyers? Fixers? Private security?"
"All three," Juno said smoothly. "And we specialize in targets from your world, artists, managers, producers, agents. People the industry devours."
Stephen adjusted his glasses, his grey eyes cold. "I was corporate compliance counsel for five years. Entertainment law, touring agreements, streaming rights, talent management, similar to you. I drafted the morality clauses you spend your career deleting." His jaw tightened. "Then I discovered where the 'compliance-failed' workers ended up. I quit. Now I dismantle what I built."
Mateo spoke from the corner, his voice that low rumble that made the floorboards hum. "Private security. Ten years protecting artists, influencers, streamers. Watched too many clients get 'extracted' during wellness interventions orchestrated by their own teams." He crossed his arms. "Now I work extraction the other direction."
"I built careers," Juno added, leaning against the table. "Publicist. Made nobodies into headliners. Then the industry destroyed a singer I represented, turned her into a cautionary tale for anyone who thought they could say no. I pivoted from building narratives to protecting them." He stepped closer, amber eyes locked on mine. "We've been tracking you for six months, Rowan. Ever since you dropped the Omega-Safe Rider with Riot Theory. You didn't just protect one band or sound engineer, you rewrote the touring industry's standards. Made it radioactive for venues to operate without Omega protections." He smiled, sharp. "That put a target on your back."
"You think tonight was—" I started.
"Orchestrated? Absolutely." Juno pulled up his tablet, showing me bot patterns I recognized. "Vance didn't stumble onto that hot mic. He needed you on it. Needed you to do exactly what you're known for, delete the clause, protect the artist, prove you're incorruptible. Then he weaponized your competence."
He leaned forward.
"You're not just a viral target. You're a band manager with access to rider templates across three agencies, booking networks, contract databases. You've already proven you can embed protections into industry infrastructure and make them stick. If we keep you alive and working, you don't just protect one group, you architect systemic change."
His amber eyes gleamed. "You're not cargo, Rowan. You're our weapon."
"I have conditions," I said.
Juno smiled. "Negotiate."
"I want a dedicated workspace. Not a bedroom, an office. Server access. Encrypted lines."
"Done," Stephen said.
"I want autonomy over the schedule," I continued, my voice gaining strength. "I am not a project. I am not a rescue. I workwithyou, not for you. I advise, you execute."
"Agreed," Juno said, looking delighted.
"And," I said, looking directly at Mateo, "if my family is endangered, if one hair on my mother’s head is touched, I reserve the unilateral right to terminate the agreement and burn everything you own to the ground to save her."
The room went silent.
Mateo pushed off the wall. He walked toward me. He was huge, a towering wall of muscle and scar tissue. He stopped inches from me, blotting out the light.
"If anyone touches your mother," Mateo rumbled, "it won't be you burning things down. It’ll be me."
He looked at Juno. "Accept the terms."
Juno laughed softly. "Terms accepted. Welcome to the Pack, Ms. Quill."
The adrenaline that had been holding me upright for six hours suddenly vanished.
