Page 45 of Veil of Smoke

“I killed someone.”

Dario’s hand tightens slightly on my shoulder. “You survived.”

“I didn’t feel wrong. I thought I would. But I didn’t.”

He pulls back just enough to see my face. There’s no judgment in his eyes. Just knowing.

“Then you’re not innocent anymore,” he says.

My breath catches again—but I don’t cry harder.

That sentence hits like truth, not punishment.

He’s not condemning me. He’s telling me what’s already happened.

I nod slowly.

“I don’t feel broken,” I whisper. “Just… different.”

His voice is softer now. “There’s no going back.”

My hands are still shaking. I stare at them, stained red. Then I press them flat against my thighs to make them stop.

“I’m not going back,” I say.

His eyes flick to mine, and something settles between us. A line drawn, a choice made. And not just survival this time.

Something more.

We sit there on the edge of the dock for what feels like minutes, maybe more. The wind keeps brushing past us, like smoke from a dying fire. The two bodies lie still behind us, blurred into shadows.

I glance at Dario’s arm. The gash on his sleeve is wide and soaking through.

“You’re bleeding,” I say.

He shrugs. “It’s shallow.”

“Let me see.”

“I’ve had worse.”

I roll my eyes, pushing up to my feet. “You’re bleeding. Don’t be stupid.”

He smirks faintly but obeys.

I peel back the fabric and wince. It’s deep enough to need stitching.

“Where’s your van?”

“Back near the rocks. Three hundred yards.”

I help him up.

We walk, slow and quiet. My legs are steady again, but my pulse hasn’t calmed.

Every creak of the dock sounds louder now. Every shift in the wind could be another body.

I don’t scan behind me.

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