Page 16 of Immune

Something flickers in their eyes again, almost despite their efforts. Amusement tries its best to surface and gets promptly strangled before it can fully appear. That’s interesting. Really interesting. Especially since the bandana hides their mouth, but not their eyes. There’s too much going on in those eyes for someone trying their damned best to appear unreadable.

I finish wrapping my side as best as I can, tying the bandage tight enough that I groan. It needs stitches more than it needs wrapping, but this will have to do until I can get my hands on a suture or sewing kit. I’m fairly confident I won’t be getting one of those from the masked stranger with a chip on their shoulder, trust issues a mile wide, and a gun.

Breaking the silence after a small while, I point out, “You should clean your arm.”

“I did,” they answer shortly, unimpressed with my advice.

“Not very well, because it’s still bleeding,” I tell them.

I receive a daggering glare before they drawl, “Is that concern I hear?”

“Yeah,” I answer, eyeing the arm that is now covered by their jacket.

“Ew,” they retort, and this time, I can’t fight the smile that splits my face, shaking my head at the ridiculous response.Unfortunately for me, Stranger looks deeply offended by it, but that only makes me smile harder, the absurdity hitting a funny bone I can’t escape.

Still smiling, I drop my head back against the wall and roll it until I’m facing Stranger, muttering, “I have antiseptic you can use.”

“So do I,” they say.

“Then you should use it,” I prod, unsure why I’m even pushing the issue.

Not that they’re making it easy, their response coming quickly. “I’m not one to take advice from Alphas who find themselves trapped in alleys and bleeding enough to lure in enough Zeds that they need rescuing from.”

Zeds. That’s actually a kind of cute name for them.

With a sigh, I nod and say, “Then how about you take the advice from a strange Alpha who’s just grateful you didn’t leave him there to be eaten?”

My words kind of just float there between us with a lot more weight than I intended, and it forces Stranger to look away first, toward the drawings still pinned to the wall. A family of five stick figures stand under a three-colored rainbow, wax smiles drawn in a way that tells me the kid that drew it believed the world would always be filled with happiness.

Stranger’s eyes linger on that drawing for a full breath before turning away and muttering, “Don’t make it a thing.”

“What? Saving my life?” I push, tilting my head as I watch them.

They pause before answering. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“Then why did you?” I wonder, actually wanting the answer. There has to be a reason for risking their life for a stranger, and I’d love to know what that is, given how prickly my host has been since the rescue.

They’re silent for a long moment, long enough that I start to wonder if they’ll even answer. Then, with their voice lowered enough to only barely be considered a whisper, they say, “Because someone I once knew would have done the exact same.”

I catch the single word in that sentence. Knew. Not know. Past tense. That tells me a whole lot without explanation, and I don’t dare touch the topic. Whoever that person is, I know for certain their grief still lingers under the surface of their skin, buried there deep enough that Stranger looks down at the ruined carpet. It’s in the way they hold themselves, the way they keep checking the window over and over again, the way a hand brushes the brim of their cap as if they’re making sure it’s still there.

So the hat actually matters.

Good to know.

“When the street clears, feel free to leave,” Stranger says quietly, and a weird jolt goes through me, almost like a panic I don’t actually understand.

“What about you?” I ask before I can think better of it.

Stranger shrugs with a nonchalance I don’t quite buy. “I was already leaving.”

“Where are you heading?” The question slips out as if I’ve lost all control of my tongue, already knowing I won’t get a proper reply, because that seems to be the way of things with my savior.

Sure enough, I receive nothing but an unimpressed glare before they glance back at the window.

The reaction makes me huff an unexpected laugh, right before I groan in pain when my side smarts uncomfortably, a shooting pain spreading from the deep slice that is stinging like an absolute bitch.

Stranger’s eyes snap back to me and, for the briefest moment, I’m convinced I catch them soften with something akin to concern. It only lasts a fleeting second before a Biter bumps against something outside, and the softness disappears entirely, leaving nothing but a cold chill that makes me shiver.