Page 159 of Immune

His jaw tightens.

My stomach tightens.

But they’re both unrelated. Completely, totally, utterly unrelated.

Fletcher and Xeon keep their focus on the pilot while Ewan pretends to be occupied with the window, which definitely means he’s listening to everything with laser-focused attention. The room is too small, too full of scent and breath and all the things I’ve been trying not to feel for days.

Cedar and leather from Fletcher.

Ice and steel from Xeon, softened by his presence.

Smoke and clove from Ewan.

And Kaito.

Burning wood and worn flannel under blood and rain and stubborn restraint.

That scent wriggles under my skin differently. It always has, too. From the school. From the blue house. From the rooftop. From the rain and that stupid, desperate kiss I initiated like a person actively trying to ruin her own life with impressive accuracy.

I still feel it. His mouth. His hands not taking. His body wanting and stopping. My body is remembering without permission, and I decide there and then that I absolutely hate memory. That shit is super unreliable, always showing up with receipts like it was just waiting on the opportunity to show them off.

“Watch,” Fletcher says quietly.

I look over and, for one horrible second, I think he means me.

He doesn’t.

He’s nodding toward the back hall beyond the storage closet. There’s another service door there, half-hidden by old shelving. It could lead to a roof access, another storage space, or a place to quietly die in peace. That would be nice.

“Roofline might give us a view of the compound approach,” he says, then catches himself before adding anything that even sounds like a command. “Two-person check. Quiet. Fast.”

I actually want to resent how he phrases it. I don’t. But I do resent how hard it is to resent.

“I’ll go,” I offer, giving them no room to refuse.

Kaito is already pushing himself up to stand.

“No,” I snap.

He pauses halfway up, hand braced on the wall for stability. Every eye in the room lands on us, and I internallycurse the whole situation the moment the word is out of my mouth.

I mean, I just love being the star of the evening entertainment.

Morning entertainment?

Whatever. Time died right alongside humanity and society and every other thing the universe wants to pummel into the ground.

Kaito’s voice stays perfectly even as he says, “You need cover.”

“I kind of need you to keep all your organs inside your body,” I correct.

“I’m capable of doing both,” he tries.

I raise an eyebrow at him, my face calling him an idiot before I can utter the words. What comes out of my mouth, though, is, “Pretty sure history would suggest otherwise.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Dakota.”

My name in his mouth feels a whole lot more dangerous today. Not sharp. Worse. Careful. Like he’s remembering exactly how I tasted in the rain and is trying not to let that memory change the air between us.