Page 55 of Veil of Secrets

Wind pushes hard off the water. It stings, fast and biting. My chain hits my chest with every gust.

The club hums below, a beast with too many hearts.

Nico stands a few feet away, just out of reach. He’s watching the city like it owes him something. One hand in his jacket pocket, the other flexing at his side like he hasn’t quite come down from the kill either.

He hasn’t said much since we left the storage room.

Neither have I.

But the tension between us is still alive.

My scar doesn’t ache tonight.

It should feel like relief.

It doesn’t.

I turn to speak—to say something, anything—but footsteps cut the moment.

Sharp shoes on metal stairs.

Then the rooftop door creaks open.

Vince.

Fucking Vince.

He’s dressed like he came from a dinner party, not a club that smells like sweat and crushed dreams. Hair neat. Shirt crisp. That smug tilt to his mouth like he owns the next five minutes of my life.

I don’t move.

Just roll my eyes. “Wrong party.”

Vince steps toward us, slow and sure, hands in his coat pockets.

“Thought you might want to see what your new friend missed,” he says.

He pulls out a folder. Slim. Sealed.

I don’t reach for it.

He tosses it at my feet.

It lands with a light slap.

No one moves.

“Go ahead,” Vince says, voice syrupy. “It’s all in there. Text logs. Photos. Timelines. Clean work.”

I kick the folder aside with my boot.

“You’re full of shit.”

He shrugs. “Looks real enough to a man looking for someone to blame.”

Nico doesn’t move.

I step forward. Grab the folder. Flip it open.

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