He moved to Number Five, acutely aware that Dave was processing his words through his hive brain, comparing what he'd just said with what they had actually witnessed, analyzing the discrepancy, measuring the gap between his explanation and reality.
Dave would know he was lying. The question was whether Dave would understandwhyhe was lying.
He glanced at the camera again. A longer look this time. Then back to Dave.
Number One's expression didn't change, but something shifted in the quality of his gaze, a fractional narrowing, a slight tilt of the head, that told Dimitri the message had been received.
Not here. Not with the cameras watching.
"Perhaps you are correct," Number One said. "Desperate men can do surprising things."
The words were an acknowledgment, not an agreement. Dave was accepting his explanation for the cameras while making it clear that the conversation wasn't over.
Dimitri continued the injections. Number Six. Number Seven. The rhythm steadied him—swab, inject, withdraw, cap, dispose. By the time he reached Number Eight, his pulse had almost returned to normal.
"Would you like to see Mattie?" he asked as he administered the final shot. The words came out of nowhere, surprising even himself, but the instinct behind them was sound. If Dave wanted a real conversation, they needed to be somewhere without cameras. The hallway upstairs had no surveillance. It was a residential space, outside the lab's monitored zone.
"We would like that very much," Number One said.
"Let me go up first and check if she's okay with a visit."
"Of course," Number One said. "We will wait."
Dimitri pulled off his gloves, dropped them in the biohazard bin, and crossed the lab toward the stairwell.
He took the stairs two at a time. He found Mattie exactly where he'd left her, sitting at the dresser, her bandaged hand cradledagainst her chest. She looked up as he appeared at the end of the hallway.
"What happened? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." He leaned to whisper in her ear. "I need to talk to Dave in private. Not down there. I hinted that I couldn't talk because of the cameras, and he picked up on it. I asked if they wanted to see you and said that I need to check with you first."
Mattie's eyes widened. "You invited all eight of them up here?"
"I need a space without cameras, Mattie. This is the only option."
"I know, I know. It's fine." She looked down at herself, then at the hallway, then into their room through the open door. She had the expression of a woman who had just been told company was coming, and the house was a wreck. "But you need to tidy up first in case they want to talk inside our room. Look at this place. The beds aren't made, our things are scattered everywhere, and I can't do it with one hand."
Dimitri wasn't going to invite them into their room. They could conduct the conversation out in the hallway, but in case they wanted more privacy, he needed the room to be ready, and it wasn't. The beds were unmade, the blankets tangled, the pillows askew. Mattie's clothes from yesterday were draped over the chair. A cup from last night sat on the floor by the bed.
Immortal speed was still a novelty, and he hadn't tested its upper limits in enclosed spaces, but his body responded before his mind fully committed to the action. He was across the room in a blur, yanking the blanket taut on Mattie's bed, flipping the pillow, and smoothing the surface. Then the other bed, same routine, the blankets snapped into place with a crack of fabric. He shoved his bed further away from hers, widening the gap toa respectable distance, and scooped up the scattered clothing, folding each item with the speed of a time-lapse video and stacking them on the chair.
The shoes went under the bed. The towels went into the bathroom. The cup went out to the dresser.
The entire operation took less than thirty seconds.
Mattie stared at him.
"Show-off," she said.
Smiling, he surveyed the area with a critical eye. It wasn't going to win any interior decor awards, but it was presentable. "It's not like there's much to tidy. We don't exactly have a lot of possessions."
"Lucky us." There was a wry edge to her voice that he loved. Even in pain, Mattie's humor was a blade she kept sharp. "Alright. Call them up."
He walked to the stairwell and called down. "You can come up now."
The footsteps began immediately.
Eight sets of boots ascending in perfect unison, the synchronized rhythm echoing off the stairwell walls. The sound grew louder, closer, and Dimitri stepped back to give them space to enter the hallway.
