Page 117 of Immune

I hate him, too.

The pilot is carried in first, and Fletcher clears the glass from the floor with his boot. Ewan checks the second exit, and Kaito remains in the outer office, near enough that I know where he is but far enough that I can pretend I don’t.

Shaking my head, I wrap the thermal sheet around my shoulders, mainly because being cold is inefficient. Only, the fucking thing crinkles loudly. Yep, so subtle. Amazing survival fabric. Nothing screams stealth like dressing as a chip packet.

Ewan leans against the doorframe and nods. “Very chic.”

“Say another word,” I warn. “And I’ll make you wear it internally.”

He nods. “Strong look. Very you.”

Despite myself, a sound escapes me. It’s small. Tiny, even. Not quite a laugh, more of a defective exhale. Ewan’s eyes warm, but he looks away before I can hurt him for witnessing it. A smart move on his part.

I sit on the edge of the conference table because my knee has started making threats in the form of finger paintings. Heat is pulsing low in my stomach, dull and restless, and then it climbs under my skin again like it’s not willing to give me a break.

My scent flickers with it and Fletcher’s jaw tightens. Xeon lowers his eyes to the pilot’s bandage. Ewan turns his head toward the hallway, giving me his profile instead of his attention. And Kaito remains out of the room, hand pressed against his wounded side.

That one hurts, which means it helps. It means I hate it. My body wants him closer, but my mind wants him in another country. Neither one of those things are useful, so I focus on the pilot instead. He looks worse, with graying skin and lips cracked bloody from fever. His breathing is shallow and he looks as though he’s knocking on death’s door and is simply awaiting an answer.

“He needs antibiotics,” Xeon says.

“He needs a compound clinic,” Fletcher replies.

“He needs to stop being dramatic and tell us why assholes are shooting helicopters out of the sky,” I add, but the pilot doesn't reply. Rude, but whatever.

My arm throbs enough to steal my attention, and I look down at it. Blood has seeped through the bandage again, diluted pink by rainwater.

Kaito appears in the doorway and I tense. He doesn’t come in, though. He only tosses a clean strip of cloth onto the table near me. It lands next to my hand and when I look up, he says, “For your arm.”

Then he steps back out without lingering, without looking at my mouth, without any of the soft, meaningful shit. Just help and retreat. I hate him the most.

I pick up the cloth and stuff it into my pocket, because using it straight away would be too much like accepting care in public, and I have standards. Low standards, sure, but standards nonetheless.

“We need to move before the street below gets busy,” Fletcher comments.

“Transit station,” Xeon replies. “West skywalk leads there. It has covered platforms and lower access tunnels.”

“More people?” I ask.

“Possibly,” Fletcher tells me.

I pull a face and Ewan points at me. “That expression right there looks like you’ve confused people with fungus.”

“Fungus is quieter,” I mutter.

“Not always,” Ewan argues conversationally. “I met a very chatty mold once.”

“I’m begging you to have fewer stories,” I grumble.

“Nah, you’re not really,” he counters and, annoyingly, he’s right.

I don’t tell him that. Instead, I stand from the desk, only for the room to tilt slightly. It’s nothing dramatic, and not enough for anyone to grab me. It’s just a slow sideways shift that makes the edges of the table blur.

Bracing one hand against it, I take a deep breath, my eyes blinking rapidly. Kaito appears in the doorway again, still not moving in. Fletcher looks away first, deliberately checking the hall. Xeon adjusts the blanket someone has wrapped aroundhim. And Ewan taps his headphones against the palm of his hand.

They all notice but none of them pounce on it, and it’s becoming quite the problem for me. I mean, if they pushed, I could fight. If they ordered, I could bite. If they wanted too persistently, I could call it danger and be right about it.

But Fletcher leaves warmth and pretends it has nothing to do with me. Xeon changes the route and calls it sightlines. Ewan gives me water and hides behind jokes. And Kaito offers bandages by putting them down and leaving before I can turn kindness into a weapon. They’re not acting like Alphas in the way I know how to survive, and that makes them worse, because it makes me want things I can’t afford.