Page 202 of Immune

My skin grows cold under the heat.

Marker-positive.

The words don’t sound like science. They sound like a cage being named before someone even builds it.

“Positive,” I repeat.

Mercer’s expression darkens. “Clinical term. Not a moral one.”

“Cute distinction,” I throw at him.

“I know.”

No. No he doesn’t know. But maybe he knows just enough to hate the same thing.

Hale steps forward. “Can Vector track marker-positive subjects?”

Subjects.

Oh, that word cuts enough to make someone bleed, and Kaito’s hand moves. Not to a weapon, because he doesn't have one. But his whole body changes, burning wood and worn flannel thickening through the air, controlled and furious.

Fletcher’s voice turns flat. “Careful with that word.”

Hale looks at him, but Fletcher doesn’t blink.

Mercer answers before the room is set on fire. “Not directly. But if someone carries modified NOVAC material, or if blood, heat response, or scent markers interact with certain compounds, it might leave a detectable trail. Especially to equipment designed for it.”

“Vector has equipment?” Valeria asks.

“They might have pieces of it,” Fletcher answers.

“And the cargo?” Hale questions.

Mercer looks at Fletcher as he says, “Whatever was on that helicopter could confirm just how much they have.”

My stomach turns again.

The pilot.

The cargo.

My father’s files.

Me, standing here with old blockers failing in a room full of people who keep saying the word marker like they’re not wrapping a damned chain around my neck one syllable at a time.

Ewan’s voice is soft beside me as he says, “Kota.”

It’s not funny this time. Hell, it’s barely even a word, just a sound. But it’s grounding, and I look at him. He nods once to the headphones, and I take them. Not because I need them, but because my hands need something that isn’t a knife.

I place them over my ears and the world dulls. It doesn't disappear, but it grows quieter. Easier to handle. My breathing sounds a little too close now, but the machines fade. The guards fade. Hale fades a little, which actually improves the room dramatically.

Ewan says something I can’t hear, but based on his expression, it’s probably something stupid on purpose.

I almost smile.

Almost.

Mercer watches me with a careful kind of stillness, as if he’s seeing the edges of something and has the good sense not to reach for it.