Page 100 of Immune

Same, buddy.

Same.

My skin is running too hot under my wet clothes, and that’s the first real warning I notice. Not the slipping scent, or the awareness of Alpha bodies around me. It’s the heat. It crawls under my collar, across my shoulders, and down my spine. It’s not a full heat. Not yet. More like my body is testing the door handle and finding it loose.

Panic flares and my scent sharpens.

Kaito drops back instantly, because this time he can. Fletcher has the pilot braced against the wall while Xeon checks his pulse. And Ewan is near the hallway behind us, listening to movement now that he’s not eyeing the machines like he’s willing to see if one will boot up despite the six years that have passed.

Not a word leaves Kaito’s mouth as he moves to the broken side door where rain and wind keep billowing through. He simply positions himself between me and the opening, blocking the air current before it can drag my scent through the hallway. Again. No announcement, no noble sacrifice, no “I’m helping you, how amazing am I?”

Just movement. A quiet choice he’s made, and it only pisses me off because it helps. My shoulders ease by a fraction ofan inch before I can stop them, because they’re as much traitors as the rest of my body.

We reach the rear hallway, where it’s narrow, dark, and still smells of old popcorn, damp plaster, and rat shit. A door at the end hangs open onto the indoor market, but the space beyond it is way too exposed. Broken skylights, rain pouring through, rows of stalls creating too many blind spots.

Fletcher lowers the pilot against the wall once more, commanding, “We pause here. Two minutes.”

“No,” I contradict, because that seems to be the way things have settled between Scar and me.

He gives me a tired look. “He needs it.”

I glance at the pilot. His face is ashen and gray, and Xeon is already crouched beside him with his fingers pressed against his throat, checking his pulse. I raise an eyebrow. “He needs a lot of things. A personality. Better hobbies. A helicopter that doesn’t fall out of the sky.”

Ewan leans against the opposite wall, water dripping from his hair, and he says, “To be fair, that last one wasn’t really his fault.”

“Debatable,” I say with a shrug.

Kaito stands near the broken side, between me and the wind. Not quite in front of me, just enough to shield me. Again.

I can’t help it. I snap. Not loudly or dramatically, just inside where all the important structural damage happens.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

Everyone looks at me, but Kaito’s eyes meet mine. I can see it in his eyes that he knows exactly what I’m talking about. I know that he knows, and that just makes it worse.

“Standing,” he answers.

“Oh. So we’re lying now? That’s a fun little group activity,” I grouch.

Very quietly, I hear Ewan whisper, “I’m actually really good at that one.”

Fletcher sighs. “Ewan.”

“Sorry.”

I step toward Kaito, gaze boring into him. “You keep moving.”

His face remains calm, his voice steady when he says, “Yes.”

“Every doorway,” I point out. “Every window. Every single time the wind changes, you move.”

“Yes,” he says again.

“Why?” I push.

He doesn’t answer straight away. Rain lashes through the broken door behind him, and he shifts half a step, blocking more of it from reaching me. The movement says so much, and my chest tightens.

No. No, no, absolutely not.