Page 368 of Immune

Then her eyes find mine and something changes. Not loudly, though. Dakota rarely lets the important things announce themselves. They just show up under the cloak ofjokes and sarcasm. Behind gritted teeth. Inside pauses sharp enough to cut and draw blood.

She looks away first, but her eyes don’t go far.

That night, she fully refuses the medical room. Ellis only allows it after a frighteningly specific list of conditions involving hydration, stitches, pulse checks, and no “heroic bullshit.” Dakota agrees to everything except the last one, because apparently she loves angering the red-haired medic.

So we take her to the room that has become ours without anyone really naming it.

A storage room once, maybe. Then temporary quarters. Now a nest built from stolen blankets, spare mattresses, patched curtains, weapons within reach, and the strange softness of people who have survived too much and still decide to sleep next to each other.

Dakota just stands in the doorway.

The room is warm from the small heater Kaito managed to fix. Fletcher’s arranged the mattresses against the wall to keep weight off her knee. Ewan’s headphones rest near the radio now, one cracked side newly taped. Maine’s hat is folded on the pillow waiting for her.

She sees that and her throat moves with a harsh swallow.

No one speaks.

Then Maine kisses the side of her head and leaves first, because this isn’t his room tonight. Not because he doesn’t want to stay. I’m actually convinced he’d live as her shadow if he knew it wouldn’t result in her stabbing him. Instead, he understands that wanting and belonging are not the same thing as owning.

He looks at me as he passes and there’s a warning in his eyes that doesn’t go missed. And neither does the trust. For some reason, the warning is slightly easier to accept. The trust almost breaks something in me.

When the door shuts behind him, the room goes quiet.

Dakota stares at the bed, and then at the four of us.

Ewan sits on the edge of the mattress, careful and bright-eyed, fear hidden under a grin. Fletcher leans near the wall, arms folded and taking up space in the way a shield would. Kaito stands next to the table, composed except for the way his hand keeps flexing and then stilling.

I stay by the door. I don’t mean to, not really. It’s just where my body stops. But of course, Dakota sees it.

“You always do that,” she says.

I look at her and ask, “What?”

“Stand near the exit but pretend it’s for my benefit,” she says bluntly.

Ewan goes still.

Kaito’s eyes lift.

Fletcher’s jaw tightens.

I don’t answer, because she’s right.

Dakota crosses the room slowly. Not gracefully, because she’s still wounded and her knee isn’t healed enough to grant her gracefulness. Her balance is poor at best, but her body is healing and still angry with her for using it like a weapon. Still, she crosses the floor until she stands in front of me, close but not touching.

Her scent is returning under the antiseptic and clean soap, wild honey and rain I remember all too well, the greenhouse coming back in flashes through my mind. It’s faint, but it’s enough.

My hands curl at my sides and I say, “I’ve never asked you to let me in.”

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I know that too.” Her eyes search mine, and this time she doesn’t look away. “And that’s the problem.”

My breath stills in my chest and I watch her swallow.

“I thought the missing bond was freedom,” she says quietly. “One less thread. One less claim. One part of me still untouched by biology.”