Page 115 of Veil of Secrets

“Storm’s loud,” Elara says, tilting her head toward the windows, her knife tucked away, chain catching the light as she sways.

I step closer, grinning, catching the spark in her eyes. “Louder than your singing,” I tease, remembering her off-key humming last week, the way she laughed when I caught her.

She snorts, nudging my shoulder, her chain clinking softly. “You’re one to talk. You dance like a brick.”

“Or I’m just clever,” I say, holding out a hand, testing her. “Saving my best moves for the right partner.”

Her lips quirk, eyes narrowing playfully. “Big talk, Nico.”

“Try me,” I say, meeting her gaze, feeling the ease of her laugh pull me in.

She steps forward, taking my hand, her fingers cool and sure. “So, what’s this? You gonna spin me or just stand there?”

I pull her closer, slow, the jukebox shifting to a softer tune, something with a lazy swing. “Spin you, maybe. If you keep up.”

Her laugh’s rough, warm, her boots scuffing the hardwood as we move. “Keep up? You’re dreaming.”

“Yeah,” I grin, quick and real. “And you’re in it.”

She leans into the sway, our steps clumsy at first, finding the rhythm. “You’re not bad yourself,” she says, her voice low, teasing, her chain glinting as we turn.

I hold her gaze, seeing it—her spark, her fire, the reason this feels right. “We’re better together,” I say, voice soft, meaning every word.

“Damn right,” she says, her hand tightening in mine, her other resting on my shoulder. “Remember that time you tried to juggle those bottles behind the bar?”

I laugh, spinning her slow, her hair catching the neon. “And you bet me I couldn’t do three.”

“You dropped two,” she says, eyes bright, stepping closer as we sway. “Glass everywhere.”

“Worth it for your laugh,” I say, pulling her in, our steps slowing, the music wrapping around us.

She tilts her head, her chain brushing my arm. “You’re getting soft, Nico.”

“Only for you,” I say, my hand sliding to her waist, feeling the warmth through her jacket.

The thunder’s closer now, shaking the walls, rain drumming steady outside. I look around the bar again—blood on the floor, tables scarred, neon flickering like it’s alive.

“You make this place feel like more.”

She steps closer, her shoulder brushing mine. “This bar—it’s more than just a place, isn’t it?”

“It’s where it started,” I say, looking at the bar top, the scratches my father left, the burns from nights we won. “Where it’s starting again.”

Her hand squeezes mine, steady. “Then we hold it. No matter what.”

“No matter what,” I echo, feeling the truth settle, solid as brick.

The jukebox shifts, blues fading to something warmer, a slow guitar matching the rain outside.

“Let’s finish up,” I say, reluctant, stepping back but keeping her hand.

“Yeah,” she says, her smile lingering as she grabs the rag again. “Then we’re done.”

“Until tomorrow,” I say, meeting her eyes, the promise unspoken but clear.

“Tomorrow,” she echoes, her voice steady, her chain catching the light one last time.

We wipe the last of the blood, lock the door, and step into the rain, her shoulder brushing mine. The city waits, but for now, it’s just us, marked by this night, this place, this moment. And it’s enough.

---