Page 152 of Immune

“Your tone changed,” she says then.

From behind us, Ewan chimes in with his usual commentary. “Character development. In this economy? Diabolical.”

“Ewan,” Xeon says softly.

“My bad,” he mutters. “Just so proud of the little nugget.”

I ignore him because murder would take too much energy and we’re tight with our schedule right now.

Dakota studies the three routes, then points with her knife. “We go right. If it turns bad, we back out before the first bend. No heroic bullshit.”

That was my choice, too, but it doesn’t matter. It mattered that she got to make it.

“Works,” I say with a single nod.

She narrows her eyes again. “That it? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” I repeat.

“You’re not going to argue?” she pushes, deep in her suspicion.

“No.”

She pauses then, eyeing me like she just met an alien. “Are you dying?”

“Not today, darlin’,” I drawl shortly.

Her eyes narrow that much further as the word drops between us with a heavy weight. It’s like a spark coming off a stone, so I’m not surprised when she mutters, “Don’t call me that.”

“Noted,” I assure her, even though it ain’t. Not fully. It should be, but who’s keeping track?

I move before my mouth can get me into real trouble. Pain lances through my shoulder when I shift my rifle higher, and Dakota catches that too. Her gaze hits the bandage under my torn shirt, then it scurries away like the sight insulted her.

Still angry, then.

That’s good, because anger has legs. Anger moves. Whatever she felt when I said she didn’t get to be the only one keeping people alive, that stopped her dead cold. I don’t know what kind of nerve I hit, but I don’t need to know yet. I just knowthe look on her face still hasn’t left me. It’s like I spoke through a locked door. Like something on the other side answered.

The right hallway smells drier than the one we just left. Like dust, old plastic, metal, and not as much rot. Ewan taps two fingers against his thigh behind me. A quiet signal.

Sound ahead.

I raise a hand. Not a stop order, but a warning, yet Dakota freezes anyway with her knife already raised. I can’t help but consider that progress. That, or she just doesn’t like dying.

Ewan tilts his head, listening. Then he whispers, “Loose panel. Maybe rats. Maybe the ghosts of Apocalypse present.”

Dakota murmurs, “I actually hate that those aren’t equally unlikely.”

The sound comes again at that moment, a faint tick before a skitter behind the wall. Not a fast Rot, because it’s too small. Rats, probably.

I lower my hand and say, “Sound’s in the wall. No contact ahead.”

Dakota glances at me again.

There it is. That look. Annoyed because the information is useful and not shaped as a leash.

She steps forward, muttering, “Try not to celebrate.”

“Wasn’t plannin’ to,” I assure her.