Page 155 of Immune

“Not by anyone whose word is reliable, that’s for sure,” she says.

“Fair ’nough.”

She steps away from the cracked section a second later, just enough that it’s no longer an issue. Not because I told her to, but because I gave her something that was worth using.

Something in my chest settles. Not soft, and certainly not easy, just certain.

Ewan clears his throat softly then, informing us, “No boots close by. Couple of Rots lingering under the bridge like a handful of wet farts in a thunderstorm, but they’re just doing their own thing. Very independent and self-sufficient. Honestly, love that for them.”

Kaito opens his eyes, the pain clear in them. “Route?”

I look at Dakota, and she notices. Of course she notices, and with it comes that suspicion again. Only, this time, it seems thinner than before.

I point through the grimy window toward a lower access road that cuts west. “We got two options. Bridge takes us across fast, but we’re exposed through the windows. Downstairs keeps us covered, but it adds time and corners.”

Dakota analyzes the road, then the bridge, and then the pilot. It only takes two seconds before she says, “Windows are literally covered in filth. Visibility is worse outside than in here.”

“Agreed,” I nod.

“Move fast across the bridge. If anything sees us, we’ve already crossed it,” she adds.

“That works.”

She gives me a look. “You hate that I’m right.”

“I don’t,” I assure her.

“You do.”

“I hate that you’re limping around and pretending like you ain’t,” I volley, and her expression shutters.

Damn it. Too close.

I don’t take it back, though, because it’s the truth. But I don’t add to it, either.

For a few seconds, we stand in silence that has spikes. Then she says, “I hate that you’re bleeding and pretending like you aren’t.”

That’s a fair hit, so I nod once. “Then it looks like we’re both a pain in the ass.”

“You say that like it wasn’t something we’d already established,” she says.

I only nod, and her eyes drop to my bandage again. This time, she doesn’t snap her gaze away just as fast before she finally asks, “It’s holding?”

It’s quiet. Rough. Like the words have cost her something she didn’t want to part with.

I hold her gaze as I answer. “It holds.”

She looks like she wants to argue with that answer, with me, herself, and maybe the entire idea of bandages. Instead, she nods once. A small movement, but it’s enough. Then she turns toward the bridge and mutters, “Fast then.”

Once more, it’s not an order. It’s more of a decision, and so I fall into step right next to her, leaving Xeon to carry the weight of the pilot and the other two Alphas to follow. I don’t push ahead, and I don’t fall back behind her, I simply walk beside her. She notices that too, and her eyes cut to me as we start across the staff bridge, gray light scattering over the brim of her cap and the bandana across her face.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Walking,” I answer like it’s obvious.

“There’s that suspicious behavior again,” she murmurs under her breath.

“I’m trying something new,” I argue.