Page 350 of Immune
Every bond.
Every memory.
Every ounce of rage Maine taught me to survive with.
“My name,” I say, voice shaking, “is Dakota.”
The older man steps closer. “For now.”
The door behind him explodes inward.
Not opens. It fucking explodes.
Metal shrieks and bolts tear free. The older man turns, and the rifle guard gets one startled half second to raise his weapon before something slams into him from the other side.
Fast.
Violent.
Gloriously Welsh and wearing headphones around his neck like they’re just an accessory he can’t be without.
Ewan.
He hits the guard like a storm wearing human skin, driving him into the cabinet hard enough to crack the glass. The rifle clatters away and Ewan’s knife flashes once, then the man drops.
The woman reaches for a syringe and a blade pins her sleeve to the counter before she can even lift it.
Kaito steps into the room behind Ewan, face quiet and terrible. Fletcher is a shadow at his shoulder, gun up, cedar and leather flooding the bond so strongly tears sting my eyes. Maine is behind them with a shotgun and an expression that makes every person in the room look suddenly less confident about living.
And Xeon.
Xeon enters last.
Silent.
Blood on his cheek.
Eyes locked on me.
No bond.
No thread.
But he’s right there.
Right there.
The empty place inside me aches so sharply I forget how to breathe.
Ewan reaches me first, because of course he does. Not because the others are slower, but because he’s the sound I need before the room disappears under panic and the NOVAC hijacker that keeps coming and going in my brain like we’re dueling for the steering wheel.
“Tiny Terror,” he says, voice rough enough to break something in my chest. “You look like absolute shit.”
My laugh comes out as a wheeze.
“Rude,” I rasp. “I even did my hair.”
His hands shake when they reach for the restraint panel, but only once. Then he steadies them.
