Page 88 of Veil of Smoke

He nods, a small motion, but it carries weight. “Good.”

The wind flutters again, lifting the scent of smoke and river water. I feel it on my skin, cool and sharp, waking me up.

“This isn’t just revenge,” I say, turning to him. “It’s bigger now—Camila, the docks, all of it.”

“I know,” he says, voice steady. “We’re in deep.”

I brush more ash from his sleeve, my fingers lingering. “You gave me this—showed me how to fight.”

He shakes his head, quick and firm. “You already had it.”

I pause, letting that sink in. He’s right—I feel it, the fire that’s been there all along, now blazing free.

I lean back on my hands, bricks biting into my palms, grounding me.

“We’re not safe,” he says, eyes on the flames again. “Not after this.”

“Safety is overrated,” I say, voice light but sure. “As long as we’re together.”

He laughs, short and low, a sound that warms me. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe,” I say, nudging his shoulder. “But you’re here too.”

“Yeah,” he says, resting his hand on the ledge beside mine. “I am.”

I look at him—dark hair mussed, ash streaking his cheek. He’s rough, real, and I feel him tethering me to this moment.

“They’ll come harder now,” I say, voice steady. “Marco, the rest—pissed and scrambling.”

“Let them,” he says, fingers brushing mine. “We’ve got the edge.”

I nod, feeling that truth settle deep. “For now.”

The rooftop stretches around us, a jagged perch above the chaos. I shift closer, my arm pressing against his, warm and solid.

“I used to want out,” I say, staring at the river’s glint. “Back when it was just me and her ghost.”

“And now?” he asks, voice low, eyes on me.

“Now I want in,” I say, turning to him. “All the way.”

He holds my gaze, steady and fierce. “Then you’re in.”

I exhale, a soft rush that feels like letting go. The fire on the horizon fades, smoke curling thick into the night.

“This changes everything,” I say, fingers tracing the edge of the ledge. “They won’t stop.”

“They can try,” he says, voice hard. “We’ve got more moves.”

I nod, leaning into him. “We do.”

The cold bites deeper, but his warmth keeps it at bay. I feel my breath, his, weaving together in the quiet.

“I’m not the same,” I say, voice soft, almost lost to the wind. “Not after tonight.”

“Good,” he says, hand resting on my knee. “Neither am I.”

I look at him, see the shift in his eyes—pride, maybe trust. It mirrors what’s burning in me, steady and bright.

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