Page 97 of Veil of Secrets

I wipe my palms roughly on my jeans, turning away from the railing to face Nico. The pier is empty again, quiet but not peaceful. It feels like we’re standing on the edge of something bigger, heavier.

“You ready for what comes next?” Nico asks quietly, eyes carefully studying mine.

I straighten, chin lifting defiantly. “I have to be.”

He nods slowly, accepting my answer. “Good.”

A strange, shared silence settles between us again, carrying unspoken words. Finally, Nico’s lips curve faintly, eyes softening slightly.

“You surprised me, Elara,” he admits quietly. “Not many do.”

I raise an eyebrow, a small smile tugging my lips despite myself. “Glad I’m not just another number, then.”

“Never,” he answers immediately, sincerity heavy in his voice.

Warmth spreads quietly through my chest, a welcome contrast to the earlier cold. I let myself lean gently into his side, just a momentary indulgence.

“Thank you,” I whisper softly, sincerity cutting through my guarded exterior.

Nico doesn’t answer verbally. He doesn’t have to. His arm curls carefully around my shoulders, drawing me gently against him. I let him, feeling his warmth slowly ease the last tension from my muscles. It’s enough, for now.

We stay there in silence, watching the sun dip lower, shadows lengthening across the water. The horizon blurs between storm and nightfall, promising chaos yet strangely beautiful. It feels like us—complicated, dark, unpredictable. But together, strong enough to weather it.

“Let’s get moving,” Nico finally murmurs against my hair, voice gentle but firm. “Marco’s bound to show up.”

I straighten, stepping carefully from his embrace. I feel stronger now, steadier, despite—or perhaps because of—the blood on my hands.

We’re halfway down the pier when I sense it again—that prickling awareness of being watched. The taste of danger is familiar now, as clear as the salt on my lips, and my body tenses instinctively. Nico feels it too; I see it in the subtle tightening of his jaw, the careful, controlled way he moves.

We stop in unison, turning slowly back toward the pier’s edge. Another figure emerges, younger this time. The boy can’t be older than twenty, eyes wide and wild, hair damp with sweat and ocean spray. He grips a small black handgun in shaky fingers, pointing it straight at my chest.

“You bitch!” he shouts, voice cracked with adrenaline. “You think you can just walk away after what you did?”

His words echo, trying to cut deep but landing weakly between us. He looks like Marco’s new recruit—raw, scared, stupidly loyal. Another boy caught in a war he doesn’t fully understand.

I don’t feel pity. Just irritation.

“You have no idea,” I reply coldly, stepping closer, defiance strong in my stance. I see him flinch at my boldness, confusion flickering in his eyes. He doesn’t expect me to step toward him. His grip falters slightly.

“You took everything!” His voice trembles, breaking slightly, anger masking fear. “Tommy gave me a place. You destroyed that!”

Tommy’s name no longer carries weight for me. Not anymore. I stare the kid down, the wind whipping strands of my hair across my face.

“He didn’t give you anything but lies,” I say flatly. “Trust me. Tommy never saved anyone but himself.”

“Shut up!” He thrusts the gun forward, desperation fueling sloppy courage. “Just shut the hell up!”

I sense Nico’s quiet presence behind me, waiting for my cue. He trusts my instincts; he lets me set the rhythm. I’m grateful for that. I want this confrontation—not for closure, but for clarity. I need this boy to understand that I’m not a victim anymore.

“Listen to me,” I say slowly, deliberately calm. “Put the gun down, walk away, and don’t make me break your ribs.”

The kid blinks, startled by my calm threat. Fear surges again in his gaze. But bravado pushes it back. He shakes his head rapidly, gun wavering again.

“No! I’m not walking away!” he yells, voice rising to a shrill pitch. “Marco said—”

“Marco sent you here to die,” Nico interrupts sharply, his tone cutting through the kid’s false confidence. “You’re disposable. Just like Tommy.”

The thug glances toward Nico, startled at the blunt cruelty of his words. His hands are visibly shaking now. Nico’s voice softens just slightly, carrying a rough-edged truth.

---