Page 171 of Immune

Teeth.

Rot.

Clouded eyes.

My knife is pinned between us, and my arm is screaming in agony. For one icy second, I know exactly how this ends.

Then Kaito appears above us with a sound that is nowhere near human enough. His blade drives through the side of the Runner’s skull, and the weight falls onto me. Dead, heavy, and fucking disgusting.

Kaito shoves it off with one hand and grabs the doorframe with the other, face going white as his wound tears.Blood spills dark through the cloth at his side, and I stare at him. He only stares back, right before he pants through rough breaths. “Don’t.”

“I haven’t said anything,” I argue.

“You were going to.”

“I was about to say thank you,” I mutter, a little breathless myself.

He doesn't believe me, which is fair. It’s smart.

Behind him, Fletcher slams his shoulder into the walkway door and forces it open.

“Out!” he barks. Then, as if it physically pains him, he corrects himself. “Walkway’s clear. Move if you’re moving.”

I shouldn’t notice it, but I do, and it annoys me.

We spill out onto the covered walkway just as the hallway behind us becomes a smorgasbord of teeth, gunfire, and shouting men. The walkway runs over the collapsed row of stores below, enclosed in cracked glass and rusted metal. It also shakes under our combined weight.

Behind us, Vector men reach the corridor. They’re not shooting like any ordinary looter does. They’re communicating.

“Runner down.”

“Target moving west.”

“Pilot visual.”

Target.

My stomach drops, because he doesn’t say package. Or man. But target. Which target is that? The pilot? Kaito? Hell, is it me?

My scent is still too sharp, curling under my skin and bleeding through pain, fear, and failing blockers. One of the Vector men turns his head in the corridor behind us, nostrils flaring even through his mask.

No.

No, no, no.

Scent-masking chemical hisses from a canister tossed into the hallway, filling it with a gray vapor that smells bitter and metallic. It should hide us, but it also hides them. And under it, I catch something else.

Sweetness.

But not mine.

Faint. Old. Wrong.

Omega suppressant.

My blood turns even colder and I whisper, “They have Omega gear.”

Kaito hears me, and so does Fletcher. His eyes snap to mine, and he understands enough to go very, very still. Because this means it’s not just the pilot they’re after. Not just cargo. It’s something bigger.