Page 164 of Immune

“Dakota.”

“I know,” I sigh.

“No.” His voice is quiet but firm, intensity bleeding from that single syllable. “Just because your scent is reacting, it doesn’t mean you owe that reaction anything.”

Those words hit their intended target, much harder than any words should, and my throat tightens once more. He’s still close enough that I could kiss him again, close enough that my body wants that very loudly and rudely and with very little respect for timing or my goddamn dignity.

But he’s not taking. He’s not using the scent as proof. He’s not leaning into the thing every single bad story in my head always warns me about.

“Wanting isn’t surrender,” he assures me, and my fingers loosen in his jacket as I stare at him.

The platform rattles with the wind, and somewhere below there are Zeds groaning like the world’s least romantic audience members known to man. I should make a joke. Something sharp, something terrible. Instead, I whisper, “It feels like it could be.”

Kaito’s face changes then, but not from pain. At least, not the pain in his side. “I know.”

Two words. That’s all. No pity, no trying to fix anything. Just the simple truth that has me releasing a breath of air that trembles at the edges, and I instantly hate it.

His hand stays at my waist, though. Light and steady, easy to leave. I don’t. Not straight away.

But then the office door opens behind us and we both go still.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ewan calls softly, sounding a little too pleased with himself for someone who is currently in stabbing distance. “I know I’m interrupting something either super tactical or something incredibly illegal-looking.”

My eyes close, and I whisper, “I’m actually going to kill him.”

Kaito’s mouth brushes near my temple, not quite a kiss, as he says, “Later.”

My stomach does a funny little somersault again, because of course it does. This is getting absolutely ridiculous.

I step back first, and Kaito lets me without hesitation or chasing. There’s no disappointment thrown over my shoulder like a wet rag. He just lets me move back, and the space between us returns. Only it’s not quite the same shape as it was before.

Straightening my jacket, I yank my bandana back up, even though I’d only tugged it down ever so slightly. Then I peer over at the Welshman, who is standing at the doorway wearing the expression of a man who has seen enough to be unbearable for at least a week.

“Everything clear?” I ask sharply.

His eyes sparkle as he looks back at me, right before the bastard asks, “Depends on what you’re referring to. Are we talking about the route? Or are we talking emotionally?”

My expression flattens, and I warn, “Choose survival, Ewan.”

“Route, then,” he says, though there’s an underlying sense of amusement in those two words. “Fletcher says we move in five. Pilot is currently making noises that resemble a haunted kettle and it’s freaking me out.”

“Oh. Great,” I mutter.

“Also, not to be that guy or anything,” he adds. “But the chain-link fence echoes. Thought you’d want to know for… future, I guess? I don’t know.”

I point a threatening finger at him and damn near growl, “You better run.”

He grins before disappearing back inside, and for one strange second, I almost smile. Then I remember Kaito is watching me. He’s not smug or satisfied, just watching like every version of me is actually worth waiting for.

And that’s worse.

So much worse.

“You should check your side,” I suggest.

“I will,” he promises.

“Now.”