Page 133 of Immune

The song suddenly fills half of my world while the other remains sharp and vigilant. Ewan doesn’t smile. He doesn’t thank me for accepting them. And he doesn’t turn it into a victory of some sort. He only sits across from me, smoke and clove softened under dust and blood, one knee bent, eyes on the corridor, and listening for what I can’t hear through the music he gave me.

I don’t thank him, either.

But I also don’t move away.

TWENTY-THREE

EWAN

The first thing I hear after Dakota finally puts one side of my headphones over her ear is Kaito trying his very best not to shout her name.

He fails.

Not loudly, mind. The man has some survival instincts left under all that brooding devotion and blood loss, but the sound still carries through the staff locker hallway with enough panic in it to make Dakota’s entire body grow as tight as a harp string.

“Dakota.”

It comes from somewhere beyond the wall ahead of us, muffled by concrete and too close to ignore. Too close to be useful, too.

Dakota practically tears the headphones off instantly.

I lift a hand not even a second later. “Okay, so before you go running heroically into a concrete wall, just give me about half a second.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “You get three quarters.”

“Oh. Very generous, thanks,” I mutter, right before I turn my head and listen.

The hallway we’re in runs parallel to the main service passage. The voices are on the other side of the block wall, traveling through vents and old staff access points. Kaito again, but lower this time. Fletcher, sharper. Xeon saying something calm enough that it actually sounds kind of threatening. And, under all of that, there’s the sound of the pilot’s breathing.

Wet. Wrong. And somehow, defying all the odds that are stacked against him, still alive. That’s just beautiful. Also horrifying. Very useful, though.

“This way,” I whisper, but Dakota is moving before I even finish my sentence. Of course she is.

We follow the locker hallway past dented metal doors, old staff notices, and a row of uniforms hanging in plastic bags like ghosts that have dress codes. Every step we take echoes too much, but that’s to be expected. The whole place has been built to make tiny sounds into big ones, which is bloody awful for the nerves but great for me.

Finally, my incredibly niche skill set is getting its moment in the limelight. I’ve never been more proud.

The corridor bends through a staff washroom with cracked mirrors and sinks stained orange with rust. Dakota barely glances at her reflection as she passes, but I do. Not because I’m vain. Well, okay, not only because I’m vain. I check behind us in the mirror, catching the hallway we left and the dark gap of the locker room door. Nothing moving. Nothing fast. Just old pipes complaining and distant Rots making those disturbing wet little noises from below.

“Clear,” I whisper.

Dakota doesn’t respond, moving like pain is a personal insult to her and everything she believes in. Her bad knee catches every third step, and she keeps her injured arm tucked close. Bandana up, cap low, knife ready, and my headphones still hanging around her neck because she’s apparently forgotten they’re still even there.

Or she knows and she’s simply refusing to acknowledge it.

Both are likely, honestly.

We move through a tiny break room with overturned chairs, a microwave that looks like it died furiously, and avending machine slumped halfway off the wall. Beyond that, a maintenance arch hides behind a fallen shelving unit and some really heroic mold.

Kaito calls her name again, closer this time, and Dakota’s hand tightens on her knife.

I point toward the arch. “Through there.”

“You sure?” she checks.

I pause only briefly before telling her, “Uh, yeah, mostly.”

Her eyes cut toward me.