Page 214 of Immune

Kaito by the rifle.

Fletcher by the door.

Xeon next to the table.

Ewan with humor on his lips and worry in his eyes.

The pack I didn’t ask for.

The pack I haven’t named.

The pack that keeps standing where I need them without once making me beg.

I hate them, but I don’t tell them to leave. Progress, maybe?

Hale watches the exchange like a man now realizing his problem has multiplied by four Alphas and one extremely unreasonable and stubborn survivor he hasn’t officially identified yet.

Good.

Math can hurt.

Mercer’s gaze remains solely on me, sharp now. Not cruel or hungry, but awake. Because he understands something Hale doesn’t. Maybe something not even I want to understand.

“You knew about the private notes,” he says, phrasing it without asking a question.

I go still.

Fuck.

I shouldn’t have reacted. I shouldn’t have even breathed. I shouldn’t have let Maine’s name drag every secret in me to the surface.

Mercer’s eyes narrow slightly then, squinted by the glasses he places back on his face. “You know something the archive doesn’t.”

Hale turns toward me again and Valeria’s expression shutters. The guards grip their weapons and the room waits with bated breath.

I touch the folded piece of paper inside my jacket, feeling the blurred shape of Maine’s face through the fabric and paper. Then I smile under my bandana. A cold, sharp smile, reckless enough to feel honest. “Maybe.”

Mercer’s voice lowers. “Kota.”

I step toward the door, and Fletcher shifts with me. Kaito follows, and so does Xeon. Ewan too, obviously, because the man hasn’t ever met a terrible decision he couldn’t accessorize.

Hale commands, “You are not leaving this wing.”

I don’t stop walking, muttering over my shoulder. “Then lock the doors. See how well that goes for everyone.”

Valeria’s hand moves toward her radio, but Mercer stops her with a word. “Wait.”

I pause, but not because he tells me to. But because his voice changes. Not with a command, and not with a warning, but with an offer. He looks from me to the folded page hidden inside my jacket, then to the file, and then to the corridor beyond this room.

“If you’re finding Maine,” he starts, “you’ll need more than just your anger.”

My hand tightens, because he’s right.

He holds my gaze as he adds, “And I need to know what Conrad hid.”

For a small moment, the room is nothing but bargains and deals and offers. Ugly ones, but necessary ones. The kind the world keeps making when it finally runs out of mercy.

I look at the door, then at Mercer. Then at Hale, whose mouth is already forming yet another no. I’m pretty sure it’s the only word the asshole is completely sure of at this rate.