Page 199 of Immune

The doctor doesn't ask me to remove my mask or hat, and that’s the first reason I don’t hate him on sight.

He gestures to the nearest table and says, “Sit if you need to. No one’s touching anyone without permission in this room.”

Hale looks at him sharply, but Mercer doesn't look away from me.

“We’ve got injured people,” he says. “And frightened ones.”

“I’m not scared,” I say, but my voice comes out too fast.

That’s just great. Amazing. As convincing as three stacked raccoons wearing a trench coat and a hat trying to pass for a tall man.

Mercer nods once. “All right.”

No argument, no pity. That’s the second reason I don’t hate him instantly.

Fletcher remains standing, and so do I. Kaito leans his shoulder against the wall like it was a casual choice and not because he’s started the negotiation process with gravity. Xeon’s gaze sweeps the room. Ewan angles himself close to a hummingmachine that might be a refrigerator. That, or it might explode if it’s insulted.

Valeria crosses her arms. “Doctor, the cargo?”

Mercer turns to one of the tables and opens a sealed gray case. Not the case we recovered, but a different one. Inside are folders, sample tubes, old external drives, and stacks of laminated labels. NOVAC’s logo sits in the corner of several pages, that clean, clinical symbol I’ve hated since before I even fully understood why.

Then Mercer lifts a file.

O’REILLY, DR CONRAD.

My father’s name.

Printed.

Typed.

Official.

Not Dad. Not the man who carried me on his shoulders and called me thunderbug when I stomped through the house in rainboots.

Dr. Conrad O’Reilly. Research Lead: Omega Fertility Stabilization.

My vision narrows, but the room moves on without me. Mercer says something, and Hale answers. Valeria asks a question.

The file sits on the table.

O’REILLY.

O’REILLY.

O’REILLY.

The letters crawl under my skin like tiny skittering bugs. I can taste honey at the back of my throat. Wild honey and rain. My scent. Too sharp and sudden. I try to clamp down on it, but stress has grown fingers and my body has once more turned into a traitorous bitch. Heat rolls under my skin. Not a full heat, notyet, but it’s close enough to make sweat gather at the base of my spine and at the nape of my neck.

No.

Please, not here. Not right now. Absolutely not in a room full of scientists, guards, Alphas, NOVAC files, and my father’s name currently wearing a fucking lab coat.

Kaito moves first. Not toward me, but away. A single step that puts his body between me and the closest scientist who has started looking at me a little too closely. Burning wood and worn flannel brushes the edge of the air, steady but restrained.

Distance. A wall without hands.

Fletcher’s voice reaches me from the other side. “Door behind us is still unlocked. Guard left has a bad knee. Window latch on the interior office looks weak.”