Page 87 of Veil of Smoke

She meets my eyes. “We don’t get to hesitate anymore.”

I look at her hands. The blade. The curve of her knuckles still slick with blood that isn’t hers.

This wasn’t heat-of-the-moment. This wasn’t survival.

This was a choice.

A clean, final one.

I step back, not because I’m afraid of her. But because I know what it means when a person stops hesitating.

She’s crossed it. The line I told myself I’d never let her touch.

And she didn’t even ask me to stop her.

Chapter 19 - Viviana

I sit on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling over the drop. The Chicago skyline glints in the distance, a jagged line of lights, while fire paints the horizon where the container yard smolders.

Broken bricks press rough against my palms. An old mattress sits nearby, dragged close to the ledge, its fabric worn thin and patched with stains.

Dario stands behind me, his boots crunching soft on the gravel. He watches the flames we set, the glow catching in his dark eyes, but he doesn’t say a word.

My breath flows steady, deep, matching the quiet wind fluttering over us. The cold bites my skin, crisp and clean, laced with the faint sting of smoke.

We don’t speak at first. Our chests rise and fall together, a rhythm tying us to this night, to the ashes we’ve scattered below.

“You did it,” he says finally, voice low and rough. “You burned it down.”

I turn my head, find his gaze still fixed on the distant blaze. He shifts, stepping closer, hands tucked deep in his jacket pockets.

“If you want out,” he says, “this is your window.” His words land soft but heavy, an offer I feel in my bones.

I reach for his hand, fingers brushing his knuckles, warm against the chill. I tug him down, and he sinks beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.

“You think I lit that fuse for you?” I say, voice calm, steady as the river glinting below. “This is mine, too.”

He exhales, a long rush that feels like years unwinding. We sit there, pressed close, the city sprawling out beneath us like a map we’ve rewritten.

“We just signed our death warrant,” he says, staring at the flames licking the horizon. His tone’s flat, but I hear the edge beneath it.

“No,” I say, lifting my hand to brush ash from his collar. “We tore theirs in half.”

He looks at me then, eyes catching the far-off firelight. “You could leave. I wouldn’t stop you.”

I lean closer, my breath warm against his ear. “You’re not the reason I stayed,” I whisper. “But you’re the reason it matters.”

His hand finds mine, fingers lacing tight and sure. The wind tugs at my hair, lifting strands across my face, but I feel rooted here, alive.

I shift, pulling my legs back onto the rooftop. He follows, settling beside me, his knee brushing mine as we face each other.

We sit shoulder to shoulder, the cold seeping through my jeans. Firelight dances on the edge of my vision, a reminder of what we’ve done.

“I’m not scared anymore,” I say, voice soft, tracing the skyline with my eyes. “Not of them, not of this.”

He tilts his head, watching me close. “You’ve changed.”

“Yeah,” I say, fingers brushing the brick beside me. “I stopped running.”

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