Page 279 of Immune
Not quiet.
Still.
Davis runs.
I follow.
Not fast.
Not rushing.
There’s no need.
My knee doesn’t hurt.
My arm doesn’t hurt.
My body is a map and every route leads directly to him.
He slips near the turn.
I catch him by the back of his jacket and slam him into the wall hard enough that the plaster cracks.
His head snaps back.
His hand scrambles against my wrist.
“Wait,” he gasps.
The word means nothing.
He smells terrified now.
All the sour rot of entitlement and sweat-lined fear.
“You need me,” he says. “The council—”
I hit him once.
His nose breaks.
He chokes.
“The compound—”
I hit him again.
Teeth clack.
Blood spills over his lip.
“Omega,” he wheezes.
My head tilts.
The cold inside me narrows to a single point.
I drag him closer until his face is inches from mine.
