EPILOGUE #2
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.”
“Dirty little rat,” I hiss, shoving at his shoulder and receiving a growl from Maine when I move. Again.
“That’s Mr. Dirty Little Rat, thank you very much,” the Welshman teases, grinning over at me like he’s enjoying himself a little too much. He’s damned lucky I love him. They’re all lucky I love them, otherwise I’d have suffocated them all in their sleep long before now.
Kaito sits on my other side and hands me one of the mugs. “Here. It’s tea. Drink that before you eat the cake.”
“So bossy,” I sigh, shaking my head like I’m deeply bothered by it. I’m not. Not even close.
“Yup,” he agrees easily, right before he kisses my shoulder, right over one pale patch of skin. When he sits back up, he stays close enough that his thigh rests against mine. Casual and grounding. Not a cage. Never a cage.
Lifting the mug to my nose, I inhale before asking, “Did Xeon make this?”
“Yup,” Kaito answers, taking a sip of his own drink.
“Thought so,” I say. “Smells responsible.”
Ewan looks positively aghast. “What the hell? My tea smells exciting. What’s wrong with that?”
“Your tea tastes of leaf crimes,” I tell him honestly.
“That’s because this place has shit tea. Get me a Tetley or Earl Grey teabag and you’ll be drinking it out of the palm of my hand,” he argues, not for the first time.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “A poor workman blames his tools.”
“You know, that’s really bold coming from the woman who once drank rainwater from a welly.”
“I had standards. They were in hell, but they were there all the same,” I argue. Then I narrow my eyes on him and mutter, “You also said we’d never talk about that again.”
“Proving a point, my Tiny Terror,” he snickers.
Asswad.
Kaito’s mouth softens as he listens to us, and Maine paints another nail while shaking his head. “I missed so much madness.”
“Eh, you came back for the finale, mate,” Ewan jokes.
Maine glances at him. “I also came back to find out my sister had collected Alphas like Pokémon cards.”
I brighten. “Shiny, dramatic, and weirdly powerful.”
Kaito blinks. “Dramatic?”
I pat his knee. “Only in mint condition.”
Xeon arrives next with a small tin in one hand. Of course he does. He looks at the roof, my tea, at the cake, at my face, and then holds out the tin. “You forgot lunch again.”
“I did not,” I counter, lying through my teeth. He knows it, too, because his eyebrow raises and his lips twitch a little. I roll my eyes and gesture my head to the packet on my lap. “I remembered cake.”
“That’s not lunch.”
“Awfully close-minded of you. Shame on that attitude,” I sigh.
With a shake of his head, he pulls the tin back and opens it for me. Inside are little savory pastries from the kitchen, still warm. My stomach betrays me worse than Ewan the moment I smell them, releasing a sound that would easily draw a horde of Zeds our way if any were nearby.
Ewan points at Xeon. “The man is fluent in the language of stomachs.”
Nodding, Xeon lowers himself next to my outstretched legs, close enough to pass me one of the pastries without disturbing Maine’s masterpiece. He still does that. Notices. Brings food. Tea. Water. A blanket. A blade when I forget mine on a table and then act like the table personally offended me.
He doesn’t make a fuss, he simply turns care into something I can hold.
I take the pastry. “You’re annoyingly good at keeping me alive.”
His eyes meet mine, calm and warm if you know where to look. “You make it difficult daily.”
“It’s called interesting, not difficult,” I remind him.
“Yes,” he says before leaning in and kissing me softly. Not claiming, not asking the roof to watch, just a touch of his mouth to mine, brief and certain.
Maine sighs loudly like the dramatic bitch he is.
I pull back and roll my eyes at him. “What’s your deal?”
“I’m sitting right here, if you didn’t already know.”
“You’re the one who compared them to Pokémon cards,” I say. “You knew what you were getting into.”
“I really didn’t.”
“You found out your sister has four mates and instantly regretted having eyes.”
“Sibling love is a curse.”
“Truly haunted,” I agree, then wriggle my fingers for him to finish painting.
Maine grumbles but continues with his work just as the roof door opens again.
Fletcher steps out last, still armed from patrol, dark shirt clinging to him, cheek scar pale against his sun-kissed skin.
He’s softer here than he is at the gates.
Not less dangerous, because I’m convinced that simply isn’t possible for him.
He’s just mine in a way that lets his shoulders drop at the end of the day.
His gaze goes straight to me.
Always does.
“Darlin’.”
“Scar.”
Fletch crosses the roof and bends to kiss me, one hand cupping the back of my head carefully so he doesn’t screw up Maine’s hard work. I appreciate the priorities.
He tastes like dust, heat, and a morning I still remember with vivid clarity and his mouth lingers for a moment too long. Not long enough. Damn it.
Ewan clears his throat. “Not to be dramatic, but some of us are trying to enjoy stolen cake without the reminder of what happened before patrol this morning.”
Fletcher smiles against my lips. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”
Ewan’s eyes flick to Maine and then back to Fletcher before he points at him. “That’s private pack things.”
“You were loud.”
“I was being supportive.”
“You were literally begging her,” Fletcher says, and I choke on fucking air.
Kaito catches my mug before I can spill it and Maine closes his eyes. “I hate this roof.”
I lean back once I’m sure I’m not going to die with my next breath, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. “Fresh air not helping?”
“No,” my brother growls, pale eyes lit with both annoyance and amusement.
Fletcher settles on the low roof beside us and rests his hand near my boot. “You doin’ all right?”
The question is soft and just for me. Even after a year, he still asks like the answer matters more than his instinct to protect.
I flex my fingers casually so Maine doesn’t threaten me with glitter again and say, “I’m getting a professional manicure, fed against my will, and traumatizing my brother at the same time. I’m living the dream.”