Page 192 of Immune

“What kind of food are we talking?”

“Ewan,” Fletcher mutters.

“What?” the Welshman argues. “I’m merely assessing risk versus reward. Like a smart person.”

Valeria’s mouth almost moves, and I have to remind myself that she’s human. She’s dangerous. And I much prefer when people stay neatly in their respective categories.

“Soup,” she finally answers.

Ewan exhales loudly. “We might be willing to negotiate.”

“We’re not negotiating soup with strangers,” I tell him.

“Speak for yourself,” the asshole counters, and I want to smack him upside the head.

A different guard approaches from the main building a second later, older and broad-shouldered with a salt-and-pepper beard. His jacket is cleaner than anyone else’s here, marked with a stitched patch over the breast pocket.

HAVEN RIDGE.

Oh, great. So the compound has a name. Of course it does. Named things always think they’re far more permanent than they actually are.

The guard stops next to Valeria and asks, “This them?”

Valeria nods. “Pilot from the crash. Four Alphas. One unidentified survivor. Possible NOVAC cargo recovered.”

The man’s eyes sharpen on the word NOVAC, then they move to me. Again. Always. Fucking A.

“Commander Hale,” he says, introducing himself.

Commander. A title with boots. Ugh, gag me.

Fletcher’s posture shifts, almost subtle enough that I miss it. A soldier recognizing a soldier, maybe? Or a man recognizing a system with teeth.

Hale studies us. “Vector followed you?”

“They tried,” Fletcher answers.

“They don’t try for nothing. Did they see where you were heading?”

“Likely.”

Hale’s jaw hardens. “Then you brought them to my wall.”

The courtyard grows quiet. Not fully, but enough that everyone feels the new charge in the air. I feel the change ripple through the people nearby. Hands pausing on crates, heads turning, guards tightening their grips on their weapons. A woman pulling a child closer by the shoulder.

There it is.

The cost.

Safety means blame has somewhere to fall.

Fletcher’s voice turns colder. “Vector was already moving through your outer district.”

“Because of your crash,” Hale comments.

“Wasn’t our crash.”

“You’re standing at my gate with the pilot.”