Page 154 of Immune

She blinks at me, because it looks like she was expecting an argument out of me. Hell, maybe I expected it, too.

She steps into the middle of the formation with suspicion practically pouring off her in waves. It’s almost funny, but it’salso really not. Because the more I watch her, the more obvious it gets. It ain’t defiance just for shits and giggles. She’s not trying to be a pain in the ass just for pride or ego. It’s genuine survival. Every order sounds like a hand around the back of her neck. Every command asks her body to remember someone who thought her choices were only optional.

I don’t know the faces. Don’t know the faces. Don’t need them to understand their shapes. I’ve seen men use command to protect. I’ve seen men use command to own. From the outside, sometimes they don’t look all that different. And that’s often worse than the wound itself.

We take the stairs slowly. Too slow. The pilot’s foot stumbles on the fifth step, and Xeon catches him before his knee meets concrete. I take more of the weight, and pain lances all the way up to my shoulder, white-hot and bitchy enough to hurt.

Dakota looks up.

“Don’t,” I say before I think better of it.

Her face goes completely blank. Damn it.

I breathe once before trying again, my voice tight when I tell her, “Information. Pulled it but didn’t tear.”

She stares at me, and then her eyes narrow. “You’re telling me before I even ask?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” she prods.

“Because you were about to ask badly,” I explain, and Ewan makes a stupid strangled sound from below.

Dakota’s gaze roams over my face with a truckload of suspicion, irritation, and something else. “I wasn’t going to ask.”

“That’s worse, then. ’Cause you were gonna worry anyway, just quietly,” I tell her.

Her mouth opens. And then it closes. Then she mutters, “Keep walking.”

It’s not an order, not really. It’s more of a retreat, and I’ll take it.

At the top of the stairs, we hit a staff bridge running over an old road. The windows are covered in filth, most cracked but thankfully not shattered. Through them, early morning presses gray against the city. I can see the compound’s outer district in the distance, not the walls yet, but there are signs of cleared streets and barricades. Old vehicles angled deliberately. Watch posts hidden far better than most.

We’re close.

Closer than we’ve been, but not close enough.

We pause behind a row of overturned filing cabinets while Ewan listens. The pilot sinks down with a wheeze, and Xeon checks his pulse. Kaito leans against the wall, eyes closed and side still bleeding faintly again. Dakota stands near the window with her knife lowered, looking out at the expanse of gray.

From what I’m able to see, her profile is all hard lines under the brim of her cap. Small, dangerous, and exhausted. Not mine to command, and that thought hits simply this time. Cleanly. Not mine.

Doesn’t mean I don’t want to step in front of every threat that looks at her, though. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to put my body between hers and the next fast Rot, the next Alpha, or the next person who says the word Omega like it means “available.” But I know that if I turn protection into a wall she can’t get around, I can’t say I’m much better than what she’s been running from.

Because protection without a choice is just a cage with better intentions. And I know good intentions don’t mean shit to someone trapped inside ’em.

Dakota turns from the window and catches me watching her. I catch a pale eyebrow rise on her forehead and she asks, “What?”

I could say nothing. Could tell her to stay away from the glass. Could remind her sightlines go both ways. Could give her another clear, useful instruction and watch the moment her spine stiffens and her feathers ruffle.

But instead, I nod toward the window and tell her, “Glass is cracked close to your left shoulder. The reflection’s giving away movement every time you shift.”

She looks at the glass, then at the faint reflection. Then she looks back at me. She doesn’t bristle. Not right away. Instead, she mutters, “You couldn’t have led with that.”

“I just did,” I point out.

Her eyes narrow again. “You’re being weird.”

“Been told I’m charmin’,” I tell her with a shrug of my good shoulder.