Page 29 of Veil of Ashes

The gate’s locked, a heavy chain looped through it. I grab a crowbar from the trunk, wedging it into the links. Metal groans, then snaps.

I scoop her up, her weight light but solid in my arms. Her head rests against my chest, blood smearing my jacket. I don’t care.

Inside, the air hits me—dust, mildew, and the faint rot of dead roses. The emergency lantern flickers on a shelf, casting jagged shadows. A battery lamp hums beside it, weak but steady.

I lay her on an old table, shoving aside stacks of yellowed newspapers. Her shirt’s torn, soaked dark from her side down to her thigh.

I move fast, grabbing a med kit from my bag. Water first—I pour it over her wounds, washing away the grime. Blood swirls pink in the runoff.

Her thigh’s the worst—a deep gash, jagged and raw. I thread a needle, hands trembling as I pull the skin together. Each stitch bites, but she doesn’t stir.

Next, her ribs. Bruised purple, one spot swollen bad. I douse it with antiseptic, wincing as the liquid hisses against her skin.

It is not just a job for me anymore, not at this point. The thought digs in, sharp and uninvited, as I work.

I keep going, cleaning cuts on her arms, her knuckles. She fought hard—whoever did this paid for it. But not enough.

My mind spins. Was this Gia? Rizzi? Or did I miss something, leave her open? Guilt claws at me, mixing with fear I can’t shake.

I finish, taping gauze over the stitches. She’s breathing steady now, chest rising slow. I sit back, hands slick with her blood.

The lantern flickers, throwing half her face into shadow. Her lip’s split, swollen, but she’s alive. That’s what matters.

I watch her sleep, elbows on my knees. Dust hangs thick in the air, catching the light. The scent of blood lingers, sharp against the decay.

You don’t bleed this much and still fight unless you’re trying to outrun ghosts. She’s been running a long time. I see it now.

My hands won’t stop shaking. I clasp them tight, forcing them still. The room’s too quiet, just her breath and the rain outside.

I found her in time. Barely. But the what-ifs pile up—her cold, her gone, me too late. They twist my gut, relentless.

I lean closer, brushing hair from her face. It’s matted with sweat and blood, sticking to her cheek. She doesn’t move.

Her skin’s pale, but warm under my fingers. I linger there, tracing the edge of her jaw. Something in me shifts, heavy and real.

I’m not detached. Not from her. The truth sinks in, quiet but sure, as the lantern sputters. I pull my hand back, fast.

If I keep this up, loyal to the mission, she’s in the fire with me. Every step drags her closer to the edge.

But if I pull out, we’re both targets. No safe moves left—just crosshairs and blood. The choice sits like a stone in my throat.

I stand, pacing to the window. Rain streaks the boards, seeping through cracks. The storm’s fading, but it’s left its mark.

I glance back at her. She’s still out, chest rising slow. The lamp casts soft light over her, catching the bruises, the stitches.

Fear keeps me silent. I don’t wake her, don’t speak. Just watch, guarding the stillness while my head churns.

Gia, Rizzi, me—whoever’s to blame, it doesn’t change this. She’s here, hurt, because of the war we’re in.

I sit again, closer now. The table creaks under my weight. My hands rest on my thighs, stained red and steadying.

She’s tough—tougher than me, maybe. But seeing her like this cracks something open, raw and unguarded.

I don’t know how to fix it. Don’t know if I can. All I’ve got is this moment, keeping her breathing.

The rain taps on, a faint rhythm. I lean my head back, eyes on the ceiling. Dust drifts down, settling over us both.

Then she jerks awake. A sharp gasp rips from her throat, raw and pained. Her eyes snap open, wild, hands clawing at the air.

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