Page 157 of Immune

Then the ass drawls, “Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’.”

That damned word again.

I glare at him. He looks away first, and I consider it a victory. A tiny, stupid, ridiculously satisfying victory. What the hell is wrong with me?

We move inside, and I’m immediately assaulted by the smell of dust, oil, old rubber, and damp paper. There’s a workbench along one wall, a dead radio system, shelves with empty plastic bins, and a faded safety poster that shows off a smiling cartoon man in a hard hat giving a thumbs-up next to the words THINK BEFORE YOU LIFT.

I can only stare at it. Then I stare at Kaito, who is now leaning against the wall like standing upright is a personal grudge he intends to win through sheer spite alone.

“Very helpful,” I grumble, because even pre-apocalypse workplace safety seems to have opinions on injured idiots overdoing it.

Ewan follows my gaze and snorts. “That poster looks like it’s sharing your concerns.”

“That poster can mind its business,” I mutter.

“I don’t know,” he says, eyeing the poster then eyeing the man holding his side like that will stop him from bleeding. “Kind of seems like he’s qualified.”

Kaito’s eyes flick to the poster, and then to me. “I’m fine.”

There it is. The mating call of injured idiots everywhere.

Xeon lowers the pilot carefully onto an old vinyl bench close to the workbench. He checks on him with quiet efficiency, fingers pressed against his pulse, hand at his forehead, and expression calm enough to make the whole situation more unnerving instead of less.

“He’s getting hotter,” he notes.

“Fever?” Ewan asks.

Xeon shakes his head. “More likely an infection, blood loss, stress. Take your pick.”

“I do love a cheeky buffet,” Ewan says.

Fletcher scans the room closely before telling the group, “We move again in ten. Compound’s close, but not close enough to drag him blindly through open ground.”

There’s that word again.

Close.

The compound. The walls. People. Doctors. Scientists. Rules. Food. Maybe blockers. Maybe answers. Maybe a hundred new ways for the world to really fuck me over when it finds out what I am and decides I’m worth locking up for my own good.

I should be relieved, but I’m not. Relief is for people who believe shelter and cages are two completely different things because someone painted the walls a pretty color.

Kaito shifts against the wall, and his hand presses against his side that little bit harder. My gaze catches it, and his gaze catches me catching it. And it’s fucking annoying, too.

“Sit down,” I demand, and his brows lift slightly.

Ewan makes a soft ‘ooh’ sound and immediately stops when I give him a look. Smart man.

Kaito doesn’t move. Instead, he asks, “Was that an order?”

My jaw tightens and my stare turns into a glare. “I like to call it medical advice offered with the appropriate amount of hostility.”

“Appropriate?” he asks.

My expression turns flat. “How about you don’t push your luck?”

He watches me for a heartbeat too long, but then, slowly, he slides down the wall until he’s sitting with one knee bent and one leg stretched out, his blade resting on his thigh while the other rests loosely on his knee.

I hate that he listened, but I hate more that something in my chest finally unclenches when he does.