Page 215 of Immune

“Maine is alive,” I say, lifting my chin. My voice doesn’t shake, and that feels like a very important detail. “I’m finding him with your permission or without it.”

No one moves.

No one breathes.

Then somewhere beyond the glass, deep in the science wing, an alarm starts pulsing red across the walls.

THIRTY-THREE

KAITO

The alarm doesn’t screech, and that’s the first thing I notice.

It pulses, low, measured, and disciplined. Red light slides across the science wing walls in even intervals, painting glass, steel, and scared faces in blood-colored flashes. No one outright panics, which somehow makes it worse. Panic would make a whole lot of sense. Panic would at least feel honest.

This place doesn't panic, though.

It organizes.

Guards move to doors, scientists snatch files from tables, and somewhere deeper in the wing, an electronic lock releases with a heavy thunk that vibrates through the floor under my boots.

Dakota goes still.

Not frozen. Loaded. There’s a difference.

Frozen people are trapped inside their fear. Dakota looks like fear learned how to hold a knife and make a plan.

Hale’s radio crackles before he can finish telling any of us what and what not to do. “Commander, we have movement at lower containment access. Medical escort returning through the service corridor. Field team survivors at west gate.”

The room changes suddenly. Not enough for strangers to catch it, but it’s enough for me. Mercer’s face loses color, and Fletcher catches it too, because his eyes sharpen from the door to the doctor. Xeon shifts his weight by a fraction, quiet and precise. Ewan’s hand holds out his headphones toward Dakota again, not touching, just offering.

Dakota doesn’t look at any of us. She’s looking at Mercer. Just one look, like a blade held to the throat of every single secret he still thinks he can keep from her.

“Field team,” she repeats.

Mercer’s jaw clenches once as Hale snaps into his radio, “Confirm identity.”

Only static spits back, and Dakota moves before the answer comes. She doesn’t run, and that would be way easier to stop. She simply walks. Straight past Hale. Straight toward the red-lit corridor beyond the glass. Her bad knee catches slightly on the second step, but she absorbs the pain so thoroughly that I would have completely missed it had I not been watching her so closely.

I don’t miss it, though.

I miss very little about her now, and that should scare me. Hell, it terrifies the shit out of me, but not because I want to look away. It’s because I don’t.

“Kota,” Hale calls after her, but she keeps walking.

Valeria moves toward the door, radio in hand. “You can’t go down there without clearance.”

Dakota finally stops then. Slowly, she turns her head. Her bandana still hides her mouth, but it does absolutely nothing to hide the look in her eyes. Then she says, “I’ve been polite for eight whole seconds. Don’t make me waste the effort.”

Ewan makes a quiet sound behind me and mutters, “That might actually be a personal best. Am I allowed to be proud?”

No one laughs, and Dakota reaches the door.

It’s locked.

For one beautiful, god-awful moment, she simply stares at the keypad like she’s deciding whether or not she has the capability to make technology bleed.

Then Mercer exhales, “Open it.”