Page 280 of Immune

My bandana has slipped down at some point.

I don’t know when.

I don’t care.

He sees my mouth.

My teeth.

The bite on my neck, only half-hidden by my collar.

His gaze latches there.

Hate flashes through his fear.

“Ruined,” he whispers.

I smile.

I think.

Then my knife goes into him.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

Not wild.

Not messy.

Precise.

The way Maine taught me to aim for things that mattered.

The way surviving taught me to stop before pity got me killed.

Davis drops when I let go.

His body folds badly.

A puppet with cut strings.

The hallway rings with silence.

No.

Not silence.

Voices.

Footsteps.

Someone shouting.

Ewan calling my name again, hoarse now.