Page 79 of Immune

That’s worse.

I fire once, but the smoke swallows the shot. The looters disappear up the stairwell with part of the helicopter cargo, leaving Rots to cover their retreat. It’s then I’m reminded once more of the military discipline. The brutality and planning. This was never just scavenging.

“Door,” the girl snaps suddenly, and I slam it shut without question.

Kaito jams the bent lock plate with the pipe while Ewan wedges a different pipe through the handle. Xeon drags a shelf across with one hand, keeping the pilot upright with the other, just as something hits the other side. It hits once, then twice, shaking the passage we stand in. Surprisingly, the door holds. At least, for now.

Silence doesn't fall between us after that, because the building is too full of screams and screeches, but we do allow ourselves a small pocket to breathe. It’s only brief, temporary, but it’s enough to matter.

I look around the narrow passage. Xeon is pale but steady, one hand pressed against the pilot’s bleeding side. Ewan’s hair is damp against his forehead, headphones now crooked around his neck and mouth shut for once. Kaito has one hand braced on the wall, blood darkening through his shirt.

But the girl? She stands apart from us all, knife in hand, cap shoved under her jacket like a wound she’s trying to hide or protect with her ribs. She’s breathing hard. A little too hard. But her eyes remain clear and sharp.

On me.

On Ewan.

On Xeon.

On Kaito.

On the door.

Not once does she ever allow herself to look relieved and a thought crosses my mind then. She’s too young to be that tired, and too tired to be that young. It’s that thought that has me lowering my rifle by a single inch.

“You saved my shot,” I mutter.

She stares at me.

“The knife,” I clarify. “Yellow Scarf guy.”

Her eyes narrow on me, suspicion filling them now. “He had cargo.”

“That the only reason?” I question bluntly.

“Yes,” she answers quickly.

Lie. Maybe. Maybe not? It’s hard to tell with her.

Ewan clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “Have to say, for what it’s worth, I’m actually pretty chuffed none of us got turned into wall art. Huge fan of these results, team.”

The girl looks at him, appearing as exhausted as I usually am dealing with him. “Anyone ever tell you you talk a lot?”

Unbothered, he shrugs with a nod that answers her. “Can’t be helped. It’s a stress response.”

“Develop a quieter one,” she volleys.

“I’ve heard that suggestion before,” Ewan snorts, taking no offense. Takes a lot to upset him, and she’s not saying anything I haven’t said to him already.

Kaito interrupts, pressing a hand harder to his side while his eyes remain on her as he gently asks, “You okay?”

I watch as her entire body stiffens, the question doing more damage than the gunfire.

“I’m alive,” she answers.

“That’s not what I asked,” he pushes, raising an eyebrow at her. The action looks like it costs him, but he pretends like it doesn’t. Stupid or resilient. Maybe both.

The knife in her hand shifts, so I step in before his concern becomes a threat worth cutting through. “We need to move. They got the cargo. They’ll end up regrouping.”