Page 5 of Veil of Smoke

Another twist. Blood sprays. It hits the crate. My boot. My cheek.

I can’t move.

The man gurgles, clawing at his neck as Dario tears the blade free. Bone crunches. A final gasp, then nothing.

The body crumples to the ground. Twitches once.

Dario breathes evenly.

My knees shake. I’m pressed flat to the crate, breath caught in my chest. Warmth trickles down my neck.

Blood.

His. Mine. Both.

I look up.

Dario crouches beside the body, checking the pockets with smooth, practiced efficiency. He wipes the blade clean on the dead man’s jacket. Then he stands, gaze shifting to me.

There’s no shock on his face. No regret. Just calculation.

He watches.

I inch backward. My boot catches on a bolt. I stumble, palms scraping against the concrete. Blood smears on impact.

He doesn’t follow.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Red Thorn.”

His voice is quiet now. Not cruel. Not kind. Just a statement.

I stare at the corpse. At the blood painting the dock.

This isn’t real.

I stagger to my feet and run.

The cold wind wraps around me. My boots pound wet pavement, lungs burn, jacket whipping behind me. The pier twists left, then right. My breath hits sharp angles in my chest.

Metal creaks. Water crashes below. I keep running.

A flare hisses to life behind me. Red smoke curls through the mist.

The image is seared into my head—the last thing I saw before bolting.

Dario standing tall over the corpse. Blood on his hands. Flare at his feet. Calm.

He looked like death itself.

And I couldn’t look away.

Chapter 2 – Dario

I drag the body out of sight before the rats get bold.

There’s a ditch behind the third stack of crates. It reeks of mildew and piss. I leave him there, boots half out, blood still seeping through the dock boards.

The knife’s tucked away again. My cuffs are stained, dried dark. It doesn’t matter.

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