Page 81 of Veil of Smoke

Dario stays where he is, watching. “You’re not hiding now.”

“No,” I say, tracing the frame’s edge. “I’m done with that.”

I turn to the window again, vapor pressing thick against the glass. “She deserved more than a tub and a bottle of pills.”

“She did,” he says, voice low but sure. “And you’re giving it to her.”

I nod, feeling that truth settle deep. “But it’s not just for her anymore.”

He steps closer again, boots quiet on the worn floor. “It’s for you too.”

“Yeah,” I say, meeting his eyes. “And for us—what we’re building.”

His hand brushes mine this time, fingers grazing my knuckles. “Then we finish it.”

I pull my hand back, not ready for that yet. “We will,” I say, voice steady. “But I need to see it first—where she ended.”

I head for the stairs, wood creaking under my weight. Dario follows, his steps heavier, echoing mine.

The upstairs hall stretches long and dim. Dust coats the banister, and I trail my fingers through it, leaving a clean streak.

Her room’s door hangs ajar. I push it open, and the bed’s still made—pink quilt faded, pillows flat from years untouched.

I stop at the bathroom door next. My hand rests on the knob, cold and stiff, and I freeze there, breath catching.

“She’s in here,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “Or what’s left of her.”

Dario stands behind me, close but not crowding. “You don’t have to go in.”

“I know,” I say, but I turn the knob anyway. The door swings open, and the tub looms white and empty.

Tiles gleam dull under the weak light. A stain lingers near the drain—faint, brown, a mark time couldn’t scrub out.

“She died here,” I say, stepping inside. “Cold, alone.”

He follows, stopping at the threshold. “You don’t need to carry that.”

“I don’t,” I say, turning to him. “But I won’t forget it either.”

I kneel by the tub, fingers brushing the edge. “I found her bracelet after—silver, with a little charm shaped like a star.”

He crouches beside me. “Where is it now?”

“Buried with her,” I say, voice cracking just once. “She’d want it that way.”

He nods, resting a hand on the floor. “She sounds like she’d fight too.”

“She would,” I say, standing. “That’s why I am.”

I step out of the bathroom, back into the hall. Dario rises, following me, and we stand there, facing each other.

“I never told anyone,” I say again, softer now.

“You’re telling me,” he says, voice steady. “That’s enough.”

“It is,” I say, nodding. “For now.”

I head back downstairs, boots thudding on each step. Dario’s right behind me, a shadow I don’t mind.

---