Page 386 of Immune
I clear my throat so I don’t laugh in his face, instead offering him a very sincere, “Well, now you have a fond and treasured memory to look back on.”
Somewhat menacingly, my brother points the brush at me and warns, “Move again and I’m giving you glitter.”
I freeze. Mostly.
Not a moment later, the roof door bangs open from behind us.
Maine mutters under his breath, “Saved by the pack.”
Ewan appears first, headphones wrapped around his neck, hair wind-tousled and grin already criminal. He steps over toward us and peers down between Maine and me before asking, “Oh, I see. Threatening with glitter?”
“I am,” Maine answers with a single nod, eyeing my thumb like it’s the devil who won’t keep still. Oops.
I lift my unpainted hand at Ewan and mutter, “You’re supposed to be on my side. What the hell?”
Ewan drops beside me and kisses my temple in passing, easy as breathing. “Love, I’m always on your side. I’ll always be on your side. But sometimes your side just needs a little sparkle. And that’s okay.”
“Wow,” I sigh. “Betrayal from the Welsh.”
“Historically speaking, you should have expected it,” he throws back, right before he hands me a small paper packet.
I peer inside. “Oh my god. Is this cake?”
“Stole it from Ellis,” he confirms with a cheeky grin I never tire of seeing.
“She made cake?”
“Nah. She confiscated it from Mercer.”
“Ah.” I nod, smiling down at the sugary goodness now in my possession. “That sounds more believable.”
Mercer has become many things over the past year. A better doctor, and a worse liar. The man literally can’t lie for shit, and the poor guy really does try. He’s become quite the constant in my life. A man who can now say “Dakota, please stop naming the blood samples things like Red Sheeran and Buffy the BloodSample” without even looking up from his notes. His research room is full of locked cabinets, consent sheets, color-coded files, and one sign Ellis made after I replaced all of his labels with drawings of dicks in various stages of erection.
THE OMEGA IS NOT YOUR LAB RAT.
Underneath that, in Mercer’s handwriting.
NOR IS SHE ALLOWED TO REORGANIZE MY FREEZER.
Progress is a little complicated. There’s no miracle cure yet. No clean answer or single little vial of salvation sitting in a fridge while everyone cheers with pom-poms and the heavens open with rays of sunshine. But Mercer has pieces now. He has Dad’s notes and NOVAC’s old cargo. He has the files Vector stole, and my willingly provided blood samples only taken when I say yes, logged with my name, and witnessed every single time.
They’ve successfully slowed infection in early cases.
They’ve reversed fever in three.
They’ve stopped one bite from turning fatal.
Mercer says hope isn’t a cure, and Ellis tells him to stop making hope sound so tedious. I told them both they flirt like they’re arguing over custody of a clipboard. Ellis was very quick to threaten to stitch my mouth shut while Mercer spent a solid ten seconds just smiling into his coffee cup.
Disgusting.
Absolutely precious.
Kaito steps onto the roof next, carrying two mugs. He pauses long enough to scan the roof, the sightlines, Maine’s little polish setup, me, and then the cake. His eyebrows pinch. “That’s not your lunch, right?”
I close the packet. “Nope.”
At the same time, Ewan delivers more betrayal. “Absolutely is, yeah.”
