Page 64 of Veil of Smoke

I roll off him and sit, breathing hard.

The blood sticks to my palms, sticky and warm. It seeps into the grooves of my fingerprints, into the fabric of my sleeve. My chest rises and falls in hard, quick bursts.

But I’m not crying. I’m not screaming.

I’m... still.

Across the yard, a board creaks.

Dario steps out of the shadows like he’s been there all along. He doesn't speak. He just stands there, gaze steady on the corpse at my feet.

I don’t look up at him.

I stare at the body. My chest tightens, not from guilt—something else. A pressure deep inside, coiled like smoke behind my ribs.

He walks closer. Slowly. His boots crunch against gravel and ash.

He stops beside me, eyes tracing the blood on my hands, the wire still looped around my wrist, the red stain spreading into the dirt.

My fingers won’t uncurl from the wire. Not right away. Blood isn’t even warm anymore. Just sticky. Just wrong.

I expect him to say something. Maybe even reach down.

He doesn’t.

I push to my feet.

Still, he says nothing.

His stare deepens—not in fear. Not even anger.

It’s recognition.

Like he’s looking at a version of me he hadn’t seen until now.

Like he’s seeing me without the glass between us.

I step over the body. My boot scrapes the blood as I move past it.

Dario doesn’t follow right away. I hear him behind me, watching.

Eventually, he does.

We walk in silence through the maze of crates and ash. Around us, the fire crackles low, feeding on what’s left of the shipment. Flames lick the edge of metal drums, casting flickering light across our path.

My fingers twitch as I walk. Still tingling from the force I used. My legs ache, but I keep moving.

“Do you regret it?” he asks.

“No.”

“You were calm.”

“I had to be.”

He doesn’t reply.

I pause near the perimeter of the yard. The chain-link fence hums in the wind. A gust catches my scarf, whipping it behind me like a torn ribbon.

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