Page 30 of Veil of Ashes

She’s up fast, instincts kicking in hard. I reach to steady her, but her fist flies first. It cracks against my jaw, a solid hit fueled by reflex and fury.

Pain blooms hot across my face, but I don’t flinch. She freezes, fist still raised, chest heaving. Then she breaks.

Her hands drop, grabbing my shirt instead. She clutches tight, fingers twisting the fabric, eyes glossy with something I can’t name.

“I thought it was you,” she says, voice cracking. “I thought you sold me out.”

My hands find her face, cupping it firm. They don’t shake, not now. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have made it to the alley.”

Her breath hitches, but she holds my gaze. She pulls away slow, hands slipping from my shirt.

She swings her legs off the table, wincing as her stitched thigh takes weight. I shift, ready to catch her, but she steadies herself.

She sits beside me on the edge, close enough that our shoulders brush. Neither of us speaks. Our breathing falls into rhythm, steady and synced.

“Everything hurts,” she says, voice low, almost lost in the quiet. I turn my head, meeting her eyes.

“You’re alive,” I say, keeping it simple. “That’s all I need.”

She looks away, staring at the cracked floor. Dust clings to everything—her boots, my hands, the air between us.

Her fingers flex, then rest on her knee. “You don’t know what I’ve done to survive,” she says, barely above a whisper.

“Maybe,” I reply, leaning closer. “But I know you’re not done yet.”

She doesn’t answer. Just sits there, shoulders tense. The lamp hums, its weak glow catching the edge of her jaw.

I shift, facing her fully. “We’re close,” I say, voice firm. “The forged ledger is almost in play—once we leak it, Rizzi’s going to look like he’s been siphoning millions from the Veyra accounts. One more move, and the whole organization turns on him. He’s done.”

Her eyes flick to mine, searching. She doesn’t say she believes me. Doesn’t have to. Her hand finds my arm, gripping tight.

She doesn’t let go. I feel the weight of it, her trust pressing into me. The room feels smaller, the air thicker with her nearness.

Her breath brushes my shoulder, warm against the damp chill. I don’t move, letting her hold on, letting the moment settle.

The bond between us sharpens here, raw and real. No masks, no walls—just two people still standing after the chaos.

I glance at her hand on my sleeve. My mission’s not the only thing I’m guarding anymore. She’s in it now, deep as me.

Her fingers tighten briefly, then loosen. She leans back, wincing again, but stays close. The table creaks under us.

Rain keeps tapping outside, a fading drumbeat. I watch her, tracing the lines of her face—tough, broken, alive.

She catches me looking. Doesn’t pull away this time. Her eyes hold mine, steady despite the pain.

“You stitched me up,” she says, nodding at her thigh. “Not bad.”

“Had to,” I reply, rubbing my jaw where she hit me. “Couldn’t let you bleed out.”

Her lip twitches, almost a smile. “Still hurts like hell.”

“Better than the alternative.” I keep my tone light, but my chest tightens.

She nods, slow. “Yeah. Better than that.”

The lantern sputters, dimming for a second. I reach over, adjusting it. Light steadies, painting her in faint gold.

Her hand stays on my arm, grounding us both. I feel every breath she takes, every shift of her weight.

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