Page 99 of Veil of Smoke

I take his hand, lift it to my chest, pressing it there, grounding us, his palm warm against my heartbeat. He watches me, steady, letting me steer.

“You didn’t save me,” I say, holding his gaze. “I saved myself. But you stayed. That’s why I want you.”

His fingers shift against my skin, and I lean in, kissing him soft, like an oath. It’s not hurried, not desperate, just reverent, a choice I seal with my lips.

“Everyone talks about power like it’s a throne,” I say, pulling back just enough to speak. “But it’s this. Right now. Choosing you, not because I need to. But because I want to.”

He exhales, a faint grin tugging his mouth. “You could have anyone.”

“Exactly,” I say, voice firm, leaning closer. “And I’m having you.”

I stand, tugging him toward the blanket. My fingers brush the jars as I pass, blowing out the candles one by one, their flames fading until only the stars light us, and I kiss him again.

The cushions sink beneath me as I settle beside him, the blanket soft under my knees. The city hums far below, a distant rhythm, but up here it’s ours, a space I’ve carved out.

I feel the night on my skin, cool and clear, the stars bright above, and I know this is mine, a moment I’ve chosen, not one forced on me.

He sits close, his shoulder grazing mine, and I feel his warmth, steady and real. The skyline shimmers, a testament to what we’ve walked through together.

“I used to think I’d lose myself up here,” I say, voice low, tracing the blanket’s edge with my fingers. “Above it all.”

“And now?” he asks, his hand resting near mine, close but not touching yet.

“Now I’m finding myself,” I say, turning to him. “In this, in you.”

He nods, a small motion that carries weight. “You’ve always been here.”

I smile, faint but true. “Maybe.”

The breeze lifts my dress, a soft flutter against my legs.

“I brought you here for this,” I say, voice steady, looking out at the lake. “To feel it, to choose it.”

He shifts, leaning back on his hands, his eyes on me. “You’ve got a way of making it real.”

“It is real,” I say, meeting his gaze. “More than anything else.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, rough with truth. “You make it that way.”

I press my hand to his again, feeling his pulse under my palm, strong and steady. “We make it that way.”

He chuckles, soft and low, a sound that warms me through the cool night. “Fair enough.”

The stars shine bright above, a crown I’ve taken for myself, not one handed to me. I feel the strength in that, in this quiet, in us.

“I used to think love was a trap,” I say, voice firm, tracing the blanket’s frayed hem. “Something to dodge.”

“And now?” he asks, his fingers brushing mine now, light but sure.

“Now it’s a choice,” I say, squeezing his hand. “One I’m making.”

He nods, pride flashing in his eyes. “Good.”

The breeze carries a faint chill, but his warmth beside me pushes it back. I feel every moment, every breath, and I know it’s mine to hold.

“I’ve spent years running,” I say, voice soft, looking out at the skyline. “From everything.”

“You’re not running now,” he says, hand steady in mine. “You’re standing.”

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