Page 80 of Veil of Secrets

He's always just a step behind, never lagging. He’s not crowding me either. Just... present. Like a loaded gun within reach.

We haven’t spoken much since the body in the office.

There’s no need.

We’re on the move. And we know what comes next.

My ribs don’t ache tonight. My scar doesn’t either. But there’s a hum under my skin, a kind of alert that doesn’t come from nerves. It’s instinct. Something’s off.

And that’s when it happens.

A figure explodes from the shadows beside the rusted dumpster. No warning. No barked threat this time—just motion, blade gleaming.

It’s not a mugger.

Not a junkie.

I know that face.

Tommy’s crew.

One of his boys who used to hang near the back of the club, grinning at me like I owed him gratitude for not putting his hands on me.

Now he’s screaming and rushing with a jagged blade, mouth twisted into hate and habit.

I don’t think.

I move.

I duck low, step inside his swing, and drive my fist straight into his throat.

He chokes on the sound. Blood spits past his lips like foam. He tries to recover—arm flailing, blade slicing air.

But it’s too late.

Nico’s already there.

He doesn’t pause. Doesn’t posture.

Just drives the blade into the guy’s gut—deep and fast.

He twists once.

Clean.

The man shudders, eyes wide.

Then he folds.

Slumps to the alley floor with a wet thud, blood mixing with the old puddles and bottle caps near the base of the wall.

Steam rises from the mess.

My boot steps back.

One corpse isn’t enough to shake me, but I’ve been on this street too long to think death comes alone.

Nico stays angled near my right—shoulder turned just enough to keep the space between us clean. One blade down, hand still loose by his hip. His eyes are tracking shadows.

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