Page 65 of Veil of Smoke

“I knew he was going to hurt us,” I say. “That’s all it took.”

He studies me.

I let him.

Dario’s eyes narrow a little. “You scare me.”

“I scare myself.”

We keep walking.

The warehouse looms behind us now, smoke trailing into the night like a signal. But there’s no cavalry. No sirens. Just the two of us. Blood and soot and footsteps fading into asphalt.

He glances at me again. “That was your second.”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t panic.”

“I planned.”

He’s quiet.

I look at him fully then. “Are you going to say it changes me?”

“No,” he replies. “I think it shows who you’ve always been. You just didn’t know yet.”

I take that in. Let it sit.

And then I nod.

Because he’s right.

Chapter 14 – Dario

The cold here bites harder than on the street. Concrete doesn’t forgive warmth. It eats it. The hum of the light overhead makes my temples ache, the bulb struggling against years of rust. This place used to pulse with traffic—freight, smuggled liquor, bodies passing through in hidden train cars during the winter embargoes. Now it’s just us. Us and the ghosts.

I pry open the lid of the first crate. The latch gives with a reluctant click. Viviana hovers by the doorway, arms folded, her eyes never still. Her breath clouds in front of her like smoke before a shot. She hasn’t spoken since we left.

Inside the crate: black matte cases. Slim. Sleek. Labeled with a logo long buried under fake shell companies. But I know that curve. Caldera’s mark, carved behind our eyes even when we think we’ve forgotten. My fingertips hover above it. Then I open one.

The hum starts before the lid is fully off.

A soft pulse, like breath under water. The tablet-sized device sits nestled in a foam mold, obsidian and faintly glowing at the edges. I pick it up and place it on the metal table. The steel beneath it vibrates faintly.

Viviana’s voice breaks the quiet. “That’s not a phone.”

“No.” I exhale. “Not even close.”

She moves closer, but doesn’t touch it. Her stance says curiosity, but her eyes say caution. Smart. I’d be more worried if she wasn’t learning fast.

“They called it a power redistribution prototype,” I say, staring at the device like it might twitch. “But it’s just a coffin waiting for a pulse.”

She leans in. “What does it do?”

“It doesn’t transmit. It erases. Wipes digital records, nukes surveillance, fries circuits. You plant it near a grid, flip the switch, and everything within the radius goes black. But they don’t always stay contained. You misfire one of these, you’re not just destroying cameras. You’re boiling the bastard holding it.”

She stays quiet. Her fingers tighten around her elbow like she’s grounding herself. Like if she lets go, the room might tilt and take her with it.

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