Page 140 of Immune

She returns to her corner a second later, but she doesn’t go as far back into it this time. It’s only a small difference, but it’s actually pretty massive. It’s the kind of thing Fletcher might miss because it doesn’t have bullets in it, and Kaito would notice so hard that he’d probably injure himself emotionally.

I notice because the music player is still between us and she doesn’t shove it away.

Fletcher and Xeon step inside a few minutes later.

“Movement’s heading east,” Fletcher says quietly. “Vector, likely. They’re sweeping the station.”

Dakota leans her head back against the wall. “Then your leak is worse than that little ‘maybe,’ huh?”

Fletcher’s jaw tightens. “Looks that way.”

“When do we move?” she asks him.

“Before dawn if the tunnels clear,” he responds, no-nonsense and straight to the point. I already miss that brief sparkle of personality he showed before. Sad times.

“And if they don’t?” she pushes.

Fletcher doesn’t hesitate before he answers her. “Then we clear them.”

She nods once, like that’s the first sensible thing anyone has said in hours. Which, I’ll have you know, is pretty damned insulting, because I’ve said at least three sensible things.

Maybe two, actually.

One and a half, minimum.

Kaito shifts by the door and grimaces before he can hide it, and Dakota’s eyes snap to his side. This time, she doesn’t look away fast enough, and Kaito sees it. He presses a piece of cloth harder to the wound but says nothing. No smile. No reassurance. No okay.

Good.

The man is proving he can actually learn. Always a good trait to have.

The room settles again. Well, if settling is what you can call five exhausted people, one fevered pilot, and a city full of teeth waiting for morning in a damp little cupboard while armed enemies meander about up top.

I check the music player. One bar left.

“Careful,” I whisper.

Dakota looks over and mutters, “What?”

I point at it. “This thing is fighting for its life with one bar. Apparently, it’s feeling dramatic.”

“Like you, then,” she mutters.

My lips twitch. “Rude. Not exactly a lie, but I digress.”

She stares at me for a long second, and then her mouth almost moves. Almost. She catches it instantly, then glares at melike I’m the one that put it there. Which to be perfectly fair, I did actually try.

I set the player back down and let the music keep going. It’s low and crackling, a ridiculous little thread of sound in a place built for echoes and fear. And all the while, I think about her brother painting her nails badly. I think about her hands shaking around a knife. I think about how she didn’t thank me for the headphones, and how she also didn’t give them back.

And I think about humor.

My oldest trick. My best tool. My favorite shield.

It’s easy to use a joke to dodge pain. I’ve done it for years. Made an entire personality out of quick words and well-timed bullshit. Keep people laughing and maybe they won’t ask where it hurts. Keep them rolling their eyes and maybe they won’t notice when you’re scared.

It actually works pretty beautifully. Well, until it doesn’t.

Dakota doesn’t need me dodging her pain, though. She’s dodged enough on her own.