Page 34 of Veil of Ashes

“She’s building her own empire on his bones,” he says, voice dropping. “Side ops. Off-books. Personal. And lethal.”

My fists clench harder, rage boiling up fast. “She’s not sanctioned?” I ask, words clipped, sharp enough to cut.

“Not by Dante,” he says, shaking his head slow. “Not by anyone with a chain of command. She’s playing god with knives no one sees coming.”

I stare at him, breath catching in my throat. The lamp flickers once, shadows dancing across his face—bruised, worn, unyielding.

“And you?” I snap, stepping closer. My thigh twinges, stitches pulling tight, but I push through it. “Where do you stand in this?”

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t falter. “I’ve been watching her. Reporting to Veyra. Feeding bits of data.”

His words hit like stones, sinking heavy in my gut. I take another step, boots loud on the warped wood. “Tracking shadows while you used my work to draw the snakes out.”

My voice wavers, just a crack. He nods, slow and deliberate, owning it. “You used me,” I say, spitting it like venom. “Like everyone else.”

“I played everyone,” he says, voice calm but firm. “Until you.”

Those four words stop me cold. My blood freezes, locked in place. I hate how much I want them to be true, hate the pull they have.

My chest tightens, not with fury now, but something softer—risky. I step closer still, close enough to smell the rain and grit on him.

“You think confession changes anything?” I ask, voice low and biting. My hands twitch, itching for the gun, but I hold back.

“No,” he says, raw and simple. “But it’s all I’ve got.”

We stand there, locked in the dark. The fridge hums on, a thin thread beneath our breathing—loud, uneven, filling the room.

I don’t budge. Neither does he. The air grows thick, heavy with truth we can’t un-say, with fire we can’t snuff out.

My eyes trace his face—mud-streaked, bruised, open in a way I haven’t seen. Two days ago, he patched me up, kept me alive. Now this.

The phone sits between us, cracked wide, its secrets laid bare. Veyra code, Gia’s game, his deception—all knotted in that tiny chip.

Thunder rolls outside, rattling the windows hard. Humid heat seeps through the cracks, sticking to my skin, fueling my anger.

I break the quiet first. “We finish this,” I say, voice like steel. “Then we disappear. Together.”

He nods, a slow tilt of his head. “Or not at all,” he adds, locking eyes with me, sealing it.

We’re not allies. Not lovers. Not enemies. We’re something else—forged in fire, betrayal, and the wreckage of what’s left.

The lamp steadies, green light pooling on the table. Papers scatter around us—maps, logs, plans I built, now shadowed by this truth.

My fists unclench, palms stinging where my nails dug in. I step back, boots scraping, giving us room but not breaking the thread.

He stays put, hands hanging loose. Mud drips from his boots, pooling dark, marking where he stands in this mess.

I turn, grabbing the gun from the desk. It’s cold, heavy, real in my hand. I check the clip again, fingers steady now.

“You fed her my work,” I say, not facing him. “Every step I took, she tracked.”

“Not all of it,” he says, voice low. “Just enough to keep her chasing.”

I spin back, gun still in hand. “Chasing what? Me? You? Rizzi?”

“All of us,” he says, stepping closer. “She’s greedy. Wants the whole damn game.”

My laugh comes out rough, scraping my throat raw. “And you handed her the pieces.”

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