Page 98 of Veil of Secrets

“Drop it,” Nico says evenly. “Last chance.”

But the kid doesn’t listen. They never do. He grits his teeth, narrows his eyes, and pulls the trigger.

The shot rings out harshly, echoing across the water—but I’m already moving. I drop low, spin quickly toward him, momentum fueling my strike. My knee slams viciously into his ribs, feeling bone give way with a satisfying crack beneath the blow. He cries out sharply, dropping the gun instantly, clutching at his side as agony twists his face.

“You could’ve walked away,” I say coldly, stepping back smoothly as Nico steps forward. I don’t need to watch to know how it ends. I hear the quick slide of Nico’s blade, the wet tear of muscle and bone. The boy gasps, chokes, and falls silent. Blood splashes across the pier, steaming faintly in the cooling dusk.

We stand in silence a moment, breath heavy but steady, staring at the corpse sprawled awkwardly on the boards. I feel no remorse—just weary irritation at another senseless death Marco caused, another pointless obstacle thrown in our path.

Nico wipes the blood from his knife methodically, eyes narrowed as he surveys the aftermath.

“Five in one night,” he says grimly, sliding his blade smoothly back into its sheath. “Marco’s getting desperate.”

I nod slowly, feeling a cold smile tugging at my lips. “Good. Desperate means sloppy.”

Nico’s gaze flicks toward me, quietly appraising, approval glinting subtly in his dark eyes. “You’re learning.”

“I had a good teacher,” I reply dryly, gaze holding steady.

A hint of warmth eases the severity in his expression. He nods, just barely, a silent acknowledgment of the bond forged through blood and survival.

“I won’t let him keep coming after us,” Nico murmurs quietly, voice softening slightly. “This has to end soon.”

“It will,” I say, conviction ringing firm and clear. “We’ll make sure of it.”

He studies my face silently, searching for cracks in my resolve, but there are none. I’m tired of running. I’m tired of fighting battles chosen by men who see me as a pawn. No more. From now on, I set my path. Nico sees that clearly.

“You’ve changed,” he observes quietly, thoughtfully. “Not everyone survives that.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” I reply simply, truthfully. “Neither did you.”

Nico doesn’t argue, just nods slowly, accepting the truth. He steps closer, gaze intense and quiet.

“No more ghosts,” he says softly, repeating our earlier promise like a vow. “Not for either of us.”

“No more,” I echo quietly, determination solidifying in my bones.

I glance once more at the dead thug, my scar no longer humming, finally silent. Whatever echo Tommy left behind fades a bit more, replaced by the clarity of who I am now, who I choose to be.

“Ours,” I whisper, more to myself than Nico, reaffirming our bond, solidifying our strength.

Nico steps to my side, voice matching mine. “Ours.”

Finally, Nico moves, breaking the silence. “We can’t leave this one either.”

“I know,” I sigh, annoyed by the tediousness more than the violence. “We’re getting good at cleaning up Marco’s mess.”

“We’ll make sure he cleans the next one himself,” Nico replies dryly, lifting the thug by the shoulders.

I grip the legs, grimacing as fresh blood smears my palms again. The body swings heavily between us, over the rail, disappearing into the waves with a heavy splash.

We step back together, breathing deep, tension easing slightly as evidence sinks beneath the surface. Nico brushes gently against my arm, voice low and serious. “You ready for this fight?”

“I’m ready to finish it,” I answer firmly, conviction lacing every word. “I’m not going back to being anyone’s pawn.”

“You’re nobody’s pawn, Elara,” he murmurs softly, sincerity warming his voice. “Not anymore.”

His quiet belief hits harder than any punch. I glance toward him, pulse jumping at the quiet intensity of his stare. Nico never speaks empty words. His truth carries weight, settling deep inside me, strengthening my resolve.

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