Page 251 of Immune

“Well, look at that,” he says, smiling. “You talk.”

“When the mood strikes. It keeps men from assuming I’m just a part of the furniture.”

Fletcher shifts beside me then. Still not in front or behind, but right next to me. Davis notices the movement and his smile deepens as if he’s just learned something of value. Like he’s storing useful information away for later use.

I hate him on sight, which is honestly very efficient of me.

Hale stands. “Get out.”

Davis doesn’t budge. Not even an inch. “People are talking.”

“People should hydrate and brush their teeth,” I mutter.

His smile flickers then. Good.

“An outside survivor comes in with NOVAC markers, a missing field lead returns half-dead, and suddenly half of the west wing smells like a distressed Omega,” he recites, his eyes dropping to my bandana. “That often results in drawing out people’s curiosity.”

Every single muscle in Fletcher’s body falls still, and so does the rest of the room. Not because Davis guessed something he shouldn’t have, but because he had the audacity to say it out loud.

My body becomes very calm then. The kind of calm that scares the people who know me.

Unfortunately, Davis doesn't know me.

Yet.

Hale’s voice cuts sharply across the room. “Davis.”

“What?” Davis says lightly, raising both of his hands. “The compound has protocols for unbonded Omegas. Especially unstable ones.”

There’s the word of the day.

Unstable.

A little hook hidden in a sentence.

My fingers twitch under the table and Fletcher notices it. He doesn’t reach for my hand, and he doesn’t tell me no. Instead, quiet enough for only me to hear, he says, “Door’s behind you. Window to your right. I’m at your left.”

Information, not commands. Options.

The warmth in my chest heats to dangerous degrees, and I hate that too.

Davis watches the exchange with a prickling interest. “That’s cute.”

I look over at him. “You wanna try saying that a little bit closer?”

His eyes brighten, which tells me I just made a mistake, because some men seem to hear a warning and think it’s a fucking invitation.

“I just want to make sure you understand how things work around here,” he says nonchalantly.

“What I understand is,” I tell him, eyeing him like he’s not impressing me, I mean, he isn’t. “You walked into a closed room with two emotional support buddies and started sniffing at the air like some unneutered bloodhound.”

One of the men in the hall snorts before he catches himself, but Davis doesn’t look amused now. That’s better. Sit down, pooch.

“Outside, you might have grown used to running feral,” he says, voice losing the nonchalance now. “Inside, everyone contributes to the stability of the compound.”

I tilt my head. “Oh. That’s cute. Is this the part of your little speech where you tell me I owe civilization some kind of womb tax?”

Mercer chokes on his sip of coffee, and Fletcher’s jaw flexes. Valeria mutters something in Spanish that sounds incredibly educational, and Davis’s mask slips. It’s only for a second, but it’s long enough.