Page 39 of Veil of Secrets

“I used to think people who lived like this were exaggerating,” she says. “Violence every night. Guns. Blood. I thought it was some dramatized bullshit.”

“And now?”

She looks at me.

“Now I think it’s not half as loud as I expected. It just… happens. And you decide if you keep breathing.”

I nod once. “That’s exactly what it is.”

The garage feels smaller now.

Like it’s just her, me, and whatever’s left on the floor.

She leans forward, elbows on her knees.

“This whole thing with Tommy. It started when I was seventeen. He told me I was nothing without him. And I believed it—until I didn’t.”

“You believed it too long.”

“I know.”

“I’m not sorry he’s dead.”

“Neither am I.”

She says it clean. No stutter. No shake.

“I don’t expect you to be okay overnight,” I say.

“I’m not broken.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

She nods. “Then we understand each other.”

A silence falls—not empty. Just... held.

She studies the back wall again, like maybe the shadowed tools can offer her something solid.

Then she says, “I’m not used to people doing things for me without a price.”

“There’s always a price.”

“So what’s yours?”

I step forward.

Rest a hand on the workbench beside her.

“I don’t want to own you. I don’t want to fix you. I want you in this with me. That’s all.”

She doesn’t blink.

“And if I walk away?”

“I won’t stop you.”

She stands.

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