Page 351 of Immune

“Looks like you tried to accessorize your outfit to match, too,” he says, eyes bright and furious as he works the release.“Blood, metal chair, attempted trafficking. Very in season. Should be put in magazine ads. I hate it all.”

The first cuff snaps open and my arm drops. Pain shreds through my shoulder so badly my vision whites out and a breath hisses through my clenched teeth. Ewan catches my wrist before it falls too hard. Gentle. So gentle it actually hurts worse.

“Stay with me, Tiny,” he says.

Through clenched teeth and agony, I hiss, “I’m a little busy for that right now.”

“How? Busy being dramatic?”

“Just casually being kidnapped, actually.”

“That’s over now. What’s your next excuse?”

The second cuff opens and I almost believe him. Then my body gives up on pretending it has bones, and I fall forward into his arms. Every single bond in me crashes home like a UFO landing into a goddamn wheat field for the first time. Ewan holds me like I might vanish if he gets it wrong, hands trembling once more as he holds me close. Kaito’s hand touches the back of my neck, steady and warm. Fletcher’s voice rumbles somewhere above me, low and lethal. “I’ve got the door.”

Maine says my name like it is the only word he remembers.

And Xeon says nothing. He only steps close enough that I can see him when my eyes flutter. Close enough that the silence doesn’t feel empty anymore.

I try to lift my head.

Fail.

Try anyway.

“Hat?” I whisper.

Ewan makes a sound that might be a laugh if it hadn’t been dragged through hell first. Rude, if you ask me.

Maine appears in front of me, pale and shaking, his old faded hat clenched in one hand.

“Got it,” he says.

My eyes burn.

“Oh, good. Good, good,” I mumble.

Ewan presses his forehead briefly to my hair.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Still in there, aren’t you?”

I manage the smallest smile. “Unfortunately for everyone and their mother.”

And then the room fills with gunfire.

FORTY-EIGHT

DAKOTA

Gunfire turns the entire room into a nightmare with a heartbeat and a pulse.

It cracks against metal, shatters glass, tears chunks from cabinets, and sends white plastic containers scattering across the floor like spooked little ghosts.

For a second, I’m still wrapped in Ewan’s arms with one wrist free, one arm screaming at me, both ankles strapped down, and enough drugs in my system to make me question if gravity is merely a construct. Or a theory. Maybe even a myth. Either way, it feels personally invested in humbling me enough that I’m sure it’s waiting on my downfall.

Then Fletcher’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Down!”

Ewan drops with me, but not fully or carelessly. He folds his body over mine and twists so the bullets rain down on the stupid medical chair, the wall, and the tray next to us. Not him, and not me, not if he can help it.