Page 17 of Veil of Secrets

Nico’s name isn’t on the walls. He’s not standing there in the shadows.

But I feel him.

That stare from earlier. The way he moved. Calm. Exact. Like he saw through the cage and past the glitter and filed me away into a folder labeled Potential Weapon.

He didn’t ask me to be his. Didn’t hint at anything personal.

That’s what makes it worse.

He didn’t look at me like I was beautiful. Or broken.

He looked at me like I was useful.

And that kind of attention?

That’s harder to ignore.

I make it to the exit and push the door open, into the night.

The club’s back lot is empty. Rain’s still falling, thin enough to feel but not enough to soak. Puddles ripple under the glow of the flickering neon. The dumpster reeks. The asphalt’s cracked.

I head toward the sidewalk without stopping.

The humidity presses on my skin like breath.

I reach the boardwalk and turn left. No plan. No destination.

Just forward.

My boots hit wood. The ocean’s close enough to hear, waves pushing in rhythm against the shore.

I let them fill the space in my head.

The boardwalk’s mostly empty. A couple arguing by the edge, too drunk to care who’s listening. A guy sleeping under an awning. A group of girls farther down, heels in hand, laughing too loudly.

I walk past them all.

My fingers brush the padlock around my neck.

It’s cold.

I remember when it wasn’t. When it burned against my skin like a warning.

Now it’s just metal.

I stop under a streetlamp. Not for the light. Just to breathe.

I think of the alley. The blood. The way Nico stepped in—not like a knight, not even like a man protecting a woman. More like a wolf clearing his territory.

I hated how calm he was.

I hated how calm I was.

But I can’t stop replaying it.

The way he looked at me.

Like I wasn’t weak.

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