Page 390 of Immune

Pretty.

A tiny little night sky on my finger.

“I hate it,” I mutter.

“No, you don’t,” five voices answer at the same time, including Maine.

Damn them all.

The laugh that escapes me is loud enough to scare the shit out of a bird on the next roof over, but I don’t swallow it. I don’t look around to see who heard it.

Let ’em hear it.

A year ago, I painted my nails alone in a tree while Zeds dragged their rotting corpses through the road below to an explosion I set in an abandoned house as a diversion. My hair was hidden under Maine’s old faded hat, my scent buried, body folded small inside oversized clothing, and waiting for the danger to pass so I could keep on pretending that survival was the same thing as living.

Now Maine paints them for me on a roof inside a compound that has learned my name and uses it.

My hat rests next to my roses, not gone or forgotten, just no longer needed to survive.

The wind lifts my hair from my shoulders, showing every pale patch on my skin, every bite mark lined on my throat, and every part of me I once tried to make smaller until I felt like I could disappear.

Ewan leans against my side.

Kaito’s fingers settle at the base of my spine.

Xeon passes me another pastry before I ask.

Fletcher watches the gate, but his hand stays warm on my ankle.

Maine blows carefully on my nails, concentrating like the fate of the world depends on whether I smudge.

Maybe it does. At least, my world, anyway.

“You know,” my brother says. “I’m very good at this.”

“Oh, look at that. Your ego is getting shiny, too,” I tell him with a smart-ass smile.

“Glitter will do that,” he counters with a matching smile that makes us look too similar.

“I’m going to throw you off the roof,” I threaten, still smiling.

“No, you’re not,” he says, still matching the grin and freaking me out.

I snicker, breaking first, then look down at my nails. Black, glossy, one tiny glittering crime of polish.

Then I look at my brother putting away the bottles.

Then my pack surrounding me.

Then Haven Ridge below us, messy and loud and alive.

“Nah,” I say softly, my smile turning into something different. Something real and honest and me. “I won’t.”

For once, the quiet after that doesn’t hurt.

It holds.

Not like a cage.