Page 196 of Immune

I sigh and bend it enough to prove the joint still works, even though pain flares into a wildfire behind my kneecap andmakes my teeth clamp together with an audible click. The medic notices that, too, because of course she does.

“Strain at least,” she says. “Possible bruising under the joint. You need rest, compression, and no climbing.”

I stare at her, and she stares back. Behind me, Ewan makes a funny little sound that might be a laugh doing its best to attempt suicide.

“No climbing,” I repeat. “In this economy?”

The medic tapes fresh gauze around my arm as she mutters, “I said you needed it. I didn’t say I expected it from you.”

I look over at the double doors where the pilot vanished, only to hear Hale ask from behind Valeria. “What do you know about the NOVAC cargo?”

Ah, there it is. The real checkup.

My arm under a stranger’s hands, my weapons laid bare on a table, my secrets hidden under unreliable blockers, and questions already floating into the air.

Fletcher answers first. “Enough to know Vector wants it back.”

Hale’s eyes move over all of us. “And what is it you want?”

Food. Blockers. Answers. Exits. The pilot awake.

My father’s name out of everyone else’s mouth.

My brother back from the dead.

A room with a door I can lock from the inside and a window I can climb through.

A life where every single offer didn’t feel like bait.

I don’t say any of that, though. Instead, I look at the medic cleaning blood from my arm, then at the hall marked SUPPLY, then at the double doors, then my eyes land on Hale. “I want to know what kind of place this is before I decide how honest to be.”

The room grows eerily quiet, and Hale studies me for a very long moment before he finally says, “Take them to Science when triage clears them.”

My stomach drops.

Science.

Of course. Medical would have been way too easy. The universe isn’t that merciful, the relentless bitch.

Valeria nods her agreement as the medic tapes fresh gauze over my arm and squeezes once. It’s not comfort, but perhaps a warning. Or an apology. I can’t actually tell. Either way, it’s brief and professional before she lets go.

A guard steps aside, opening a path toward the deeper hallway where the walls look cleaner, colder, and brighter. SCIENCE/MEDICAL WING is painted above the door in bold, black letters, because apparently Haven Ridge decided medicine and science should share a hallway as if one couldn’t completely fuck up the other.

My body tries one more time to lean toward the exit. I have to actively force it still.

Behind me, Fletcher rises. Kaito too, against medical advice and common sense. Ewan’s jaw tightens, and Xeon falls into place close enough for me to notice frost and steel under the sharp tang of disinfectant.

The compound has offered food. Rest. Clean clothes. Treatment. Safety. And every single one of those things waits behind doors someone else controls.

I touch the edge of my bandana.

Still there.

Still covered.

Still mine.

For now.