Page 66 of Immune

I lift the hat slightly. “Well, if we want to be all technical about it, they followed their kidnapped hat back.”

Fletcher gives me a look.

“Rescued,” I correct quickly. “Temporarily fostered hat. Emotionally significant hat that is currently under my care.”

“Ewan,” he rumbles lowly.

I sigh. “Fine.”

Then I move toward the window slowly. I don’t go to the front one facing the courtyard, because that would be way too easy. Too obvious. Too bait-shaped. Instead, I choose the side window near the kitchen, half-hidden by a torn curtain. From the opposite building, someone watching carefully would see it. Someone desperate enough would.

I set the cap on the table under the window. Not on the sill, because displaying it like a trophy would be stupid as shit. On the table, it’s just visible enough. A compromise of sorts. Those are awful.

“Not bait,” I say, and Fletcher’s mouth flattens.

Xeon watches me quietly, and I look away first, because Xeon’s quiet understanding is worse than Fletcher’s orders most days. Fletcher will kick a door open and tell you to move. Xeon will look at you like he knows exactly what part of you is hurting.

“Not quite bait,” I amend.

“There it is,” Fletcher drawls.

“Oh, don’t sound so pleased with yourself. It’s not a shade that suits you,” I sigh, shaking my head with disappointment.

Just then, a faint scrape comes from the building across the courtyard. I go still. Hell, everyone goes still. Even the pilot seems to pause his dying out of politeness.

Right there. A shadow behind a broken balcony rail. Small. Hood up now, because they’re hatless. Pale hair tucked away poorly under their hood, a few strands catching the gray light before disappearing again. Bandana still covering their lower face and knife in hand.

Our tiny scavenger.

My stomach twists weirdly at that.

Because no, they’re not tiny. Xeon’s correction from earlier sits heavily in my head. They’re not small, they’re scared. I finally understand what he meant now.

The figure crouches behind the balcony rail across from us, still as stone, gaze locked on the window where the hat rests. Fletcher spots them, too. His hand lifts slightly. Not aiming, but more ready than anything.

Xeon stands, slow enough not to startle anyone who might be watching from across the courtyard. Then he softly says, “Do not chase.”

Fletcher cuts him a hard look that would make a weaker man’s balls shrivel up inside his body.

Xeon’s voice remains soft when he continues. “Don’t make them run.”

For once, Fletcher doesn’t respond straightaway, and outside, the figure shifts. Gone. Wait, no, not fully. Just moved back, swallowed by the shadows in the apartment. I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding, right before I murmur, “Well, that went absolutely beautifully. Very warm. Very welcoming. No notes from me. Would do it again.”

Fletcher’s gaze remains on the opposite building. “They’ll try for it.”

“Oh, absolutely,” I agree with an easy nod, even though my voice sounds a whole lot less joking than I meant for it to. Because, whoever they are, I saw the way they looked at that hat like I was holding a part of their skeleton hostage. And if someone had something that mattered to me that much, I don’t think anything could have kept me away. I would have come for it, too, no matter how stupid or dangerous. No matter how many Alphas waited in the room.

I touch one hand to my headphones, grounding myself with the familiar pressure around my neck. The world outside is still too loud, with Rots below, smoke above, a pilot bleeding on the floor, Fletcher planning, Xeon worrying quietly. A small terrified Omega or Beta or both or neither, stalking us from across the courtyard because I picked up the one thing they couldn’t leave behind. I wanted to save it, I really did. I mean, I did save it, but Fletcher is right. The hat is bait now, whether I meant it that way or not.

Looking at the hat resting under the window, I take in the old fabric darkened with rain, brim bent toward the room like an accusation.

“Sorry, Booger,” I mutter under my breath.

Xeon looks over at me again. “What?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

Fletcher’s eyes narrow before he pushes the question. “Who’s Booger?”