Page 234 of Immune

“You missed me burying her.”

That’s a lie. I didn’t bury her. There wasn’t time or strength or safe ground. I left the bathroom door closed and ran before the smell became a part of me forever.

My words hit their mark anyway.

Maine looks like they cut right through him.

“You missed heats,” I say sharply. “Blockers running out. Men trying to buy what they thought I was. Zeds in stairwells. Winters. Blood. Learning which roofs held weight and which canned foods make you throw up less. You missed me turning myself into someone who wouldn’t even look twice at.”

My fingers find the loose bandana at my throat. I don’t pull it back up, and that feels pretty important.

“You missed all of it.”

Maine’s voice is barely there when he says, “I did.”

“And now you’re here,” I mutter.

“Yeah.”

“And I’m supposed to what? Be grateful?”

“No, Kota.”

“Then what? Forgive you?” I push.

“No.”

“Understand?”

His eyes lift to mine then, and there’s the brother I remember. Not in his face, but in the way he takes the hit and doesn’t even attempt to duck. “No. You don’t owe me understanding.”

And you know what? I fucking hate that answer. I wanted something worse. Something I could strangle with my bare hands.

The door shifts and I glance over at it. Kaito stands just past the crack, not looking in fully, but not looking away either. Fletcher is slightly farther down the hallway, arms crossed and body angled toward Hale. Xeon is watching the corridor and Ewan is sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the wall and his headphones in his lap rather than wrapped around his neck like usual.

They’re giving me space, not absence, and there’s a very big difference. Hell, my chest even hurts with it.

Maine notices where I’m looking but this time he doesn’t ask if they’re mine. Check that out. More growth. Incredible. Five stars for him.

“They kept you alive?” he asks eventually.

I look back at him. “They tried.”

“That sounds like you made it hard on them,” he calls me out.

I shrug a shoulder. “I’m a delight.”

His mouth wobbles before he says, “I can see that.”

Silence follows again, but a little less sharp this time. Not softer, just tired and weighted down.

Maine rests his hand on the hat that sits against his chest now. My hat. His hat. The only thing in the room that has belonged to us both for long enough to know better than to pick sides.

“I should have come back sooner,” he eventually says after the silence stretches too long.

“Yeah.”

“I should have found another way.”