Page 55 of Veil of Smoke

He glances over his shoulder. “We’re still figuring it out.”

I already know.

My feet carry me closer to the caution tape again. Just enough to see the windowsill—part of it still intact. On the scorched stone ledge, someone has traced words through the soot:

Walk away.

It’s not a threat. Not a plea. It’s a command. Mocking and final.

I take a step back. One more.

That’s when I hear his voice.

“Viviana!”

I turn. Ignazio.

He jogs toward me, breath hitching like he just got there. Hair damp from the drizzle. Shirt collar open. No coat. Just a too-clean expression and a hint of something in his eyes I can’t read anymore.

He stops in front of me, panting. “Thank God. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

I say nothing. I glance at his coat—no water on the shoulders. He wasn’t running in the rain. He was already close.

His hand reaches for my arm. I pull away.

“I was in the area,” he says quickly. “Heard the scanner. Came as soon as I could.”

I stare at him. “How did you know it was the shop?”

He blinks. “I didn’t. I just—when I saw the address—”

“You were in the area?”

“Yeah.”

“In uniform?”

Pause. “No. I was off-duty.”

His voice is too smooth. Too rehearsed. The same voice he uses when he asks for dahlias for his aunt.

He didn’t call it in. No backup. No paperwork. He didn’t even check if I needed medical attention.

I take another step back. He notices. He tries again.

“I’ll help you relocate,” he offers. “There’s an emergency program. Temporary lodging. We can figure this out.”

“No,” I say.

His mouth opens. Shuts. “Viviana…”

I look past him. At the glow behind him. The flames are dying down, but the smell of ruin lingers. Wet ash and chemical death.

This was no accident. This was precision. Punishment.

“Who knew about the dock?” I ask, voice quiet.

His head tilts. “What?”

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