Page 87 of Immune

“I’m sorry, the what?” Ewan blurts.

I don’t look away from Fletcher, giving him a disgusted look as I explain. “Oh, you know, when someone throws everyone’s safety into one big dish and serves it piping hot so the person who wants to leave chokes on it.”

Ewan considers that for a moment before nodding. “That’s actually a really good metaphor.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. “I hate it.”

Fletcher’s expression doesn’t soften even a little. “Still true.”

I bare my teeth from behind the bandana, damn near growling when I say, “I don’t owe you anything.”

“No,” Xeon interjects softly, and I look at him. He’s still kneeling next to the pilot, one bloodied hand pressed against the man’s side, but his eyes are on me. They’re calm, tired, and far too understanding for his own good. “You don’t owe us. But if you open that door, the sound will carry. They could still be nearby. The Rots will follow, especially the fast ones.”

My grip tightens around my knife, and I hate that he’s right. I hate the Zeds outside. I hate the Runners, the looters, Vector, the pilot, my fucking knee, my empty gun, my failing blockers, my stupid-ass body, and every single soft, betraying part of me that doesn’t instantly reject the idea of sitting in this room until the sun rises.

I hate that Kaito is standing between me and the door, not blocking me from leaving but blocking whatever might come inside. Because he knows. Somehow, he knows that if he stood in front of me like a wall, I’d cut him open just to prove that I could. So he stands at an angle, shoulder close to the doorway and body turned toward the danger instead of toward me.

He gives me a path. It’s a narrow one, but it’s still a path.

“I can run after sunrise?” I ask, voice flat and void of emotion.

Kaito’s gaze holds mine for a heavy moment before he nods. “Yeah.”

“You won’t follow me?” I push. Silence answers me, and my eyes narrow. “Kaito.”

“I won’t stop you,” he says instead, avoiding the question.

I shake my head slowly. “You know that’s not what I asked.”

“I know,” he admits with a heaping dose of audacity.

I stare at him with enough intensity to peel wallpaper, which is absolutely useless because the wallpaper is already peeling without my help. Apocalypse decor is really out here robbing me of the small victories in life.

“I’ll stab you,” I remind him.

He nods, repeating, “I know.”

“I’m not joking,” I warn, voice hard and serious.

“I know.”

“Then why are you acting like being stabbed is just a casual scheduling conflict?” I question, actually wanting the answer.

Ewan snorts and Kaito’s mouth twitches, but he smartly chooses not to smile. Then he says, “Because you warn people you don’t actually want to hurt.”

I freeze.

Everyone else freezes.

The water dripping from the pipe freezes.

Hell, even the pilot has the common sense and decency to remain unconscious. At least someone in the room is being a considerate bastard.

For one horrible second, his words wash over me and settle on my skin. They’re not soft or loud, just true enough tomake me want to throw something hard or sharp at his head. Then I whisper, “You don’t know that.”

Kaito’s face changes. Regret, maybe? But then he lowers his gaze and breathes, “You’re right.”

There it is again. No argument, just simple acceptance. It scrapes at my nerves until they feel raw, so I turn away before anyone can see the effect it’s having on me. I slide down the wall in the far corner with my knife still secured in my hand and Maine’s hat still cushioned inside my jacket. Then I snap, “Fine. Until sunrise. Then I’m gone.”