Page 85 of Veil of Smoke

“Dead sure,” I say, tapping my chest again. “Rigged them myself—power cores first, then the base.”

She nods, trusting me, and it hits me hard. She’s not the florist anymore—she’s a weapon, and I made her one.

I push off the container, ready to move. “We hold position until it’s time.”

She follows, staying low, her boots quiet on the gravel. “And if they spot us?”

“They won’t,” I say, voice firm. “Not with you running point.”

Her eyes flash, fierce and bright. “Damn right.”

We settle behind the stack, out of sight. The guard’s voice drifts over, grumbling about paperwork, still clueless.

I check the yard again—rows of crates, shadows stretching long. A truck rolls past the fence, headlights cutting through the fog.

My breath is much colder now, freeze seeping into my bones. Viviana’s close, her shoulder brushing mine, steadying me.

She’s my anchor, yeah, but more than that. If this fails, we vanish tonight—no second chances.

I glance at her, catch her watching the guard. Her focus is steel, and it pulls me tighter to her.

“You’re too good at this,” I say again, softer. “Scary good.”

She looks at me, lips curving just enough. “Had to be.”

I nod, pride mixing with the strain in my chest. She’s not just surviving—she’s fighting, and I’m right there with her.

The guard kicks a rock, muttering to himself. Viviana’s hand brushes mine, quick and light, a signal of her own.

“Ready?” she asks, voice barely audible.

“Always,” I say, checking the watch again—eight minutes left.

She shifts, clipboard still in hand. “He’s moving—stay sharp.”

I watch him pace, cigarette replaced with a radio now. My gut tightens, but I keep my hands steady.

“He’s calling it in,” I say, voice low. “Doesn’t matter—too late for him.”

She nods, eyes locked on the crate. “We’ve got this.”

“Yeah,” I say, feeling the edge creep in. “We do.”

The wind howls louder, tugging at my coat. I adjust the pack, making sure it’s secure.

Viviana’s breathing hard beside me, cold getting to her. She’s calm, but I see the fire underneath—same as mine.

I lean closer, voice dropping. “Two minutes, we shift—get to the trigger spot.”

“Got it,” she says, shifting her weight. “Lead the way.”

I nod, ready to move, but I watch her first. She’s steady, fierce, and it’s more than I expected.

The guard turns, radio crackling in his hand. Viviana’s eyes flick to me again—hurry—and I nod back.

I slip past the container, keeping low, my breath shallow. She’s right behind me, my anchor in this, and I’m not letting her down.

The fence groans as I cut the last tie. It's old chain-link, warped and rusted along the bottom, just enough to let us slip through. The pulse device is already in place—tucked inside a gutted transport crate marked with the wrong seal. One push of the detonator, and Corradino’s whole drop goes dead. Not destroyed—just dead enough to send a message.

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