Page 50 of Veil of Ashes

Sylvara stretches out across the only couch, barefoot since she tossed her heels in that alley. Her dress clings to her, torn black silk riding up her thighs, one shoulder bare where the fabric split. She’s chaos in human form, hair tangled wild, eyes catching the flicker of the single lamp hanging low.

I catch her staring, lounging there like she didn’t just dodge bullets. “You could’ve been killed,” I say, voice cutting sharp through the stale air, hands pausing on the table.

She sits up, leaning forward, elbows digging into her knees. “You loved it,” she says, lips twitching upward. “Don’t lie.”

My fingers curl, nails scraping the wood. “That wasn’t a plan,” I say, stepping toward her, boots smacking the cement loud. “That was a performance.”

“And you’re still clapping,” she shoots back, voice low and edged, standing to meet me. The torn silk shifts, brushing her skin as she closes the distance.

I glare down at her, chest tightening hard. “You think this is a game? Rizzi’s men almost had you. One wrong step, and you’re done.”

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing into slits. “I didn’t step wrong. I ran. And you were right there with me.” Her words bite, landing with a sting I can’t shake.

“You ran too close,” I say, voice climbing higher. “Too exposed. You’re not bulletproof, Sylvara.”

She steps in, bare feet scuffing the floor, close enough I smell the jasmine on her skin. “Neither are you,” she says, pointing a finger at my chest. “But you’re scared to admit it.”

I pull back, needing space, my boots scraping rough. “I’m not scared,” I say, forcing my tone flat. “I’m trying to keep us breathing.”

She laughs, short and dry, echoing off the low ceiling. “You’re afraid to feel,” she says, jabbing the air again. “That’s why you’re pissed.”

“And you hide behind theatrics,” I snap, turning away, pacing toward the boarded window. “Every move’s a damn show, like bleeding doesn’t count.”

Her eyes flash, tracking me across the room. “It’s not a show,” she says, voice dropping low and fierce. “It’s me. And you hate that you can’t rein it in.”

I stop, spinning back, hands balling into fists at my sides. “I don’t want to rein it in,” I say, louder now, voice bouncing off the walls. “I want you to think.”

“I was thinking,” she says, crossing her arms, silk rustling as she shifts. “You just don’t like where it went.”

The lamp swings faint overhead, throwing her shadow long and jagged across the cement. I wanted to shake her. Or kiss her. Or run. The urge hits me raw, clawing at my insides, shredding my grip.

“You pushed too far,” I say, closing the gap again, voice rougher than I mean. “That guard saw you. If I hadn’t been there—”

“You were,” she cuts in, standing her ground, chin lifting. “And I knew you’d be.” Her certainty stabs, like she’s got me figured out, bet on me every time.

“That’s not a plan,” I say, shaking my head hard. “That’s faith. And faith gets you a bullet.”

She smirks, leaning back against the couch, arms still crossed. “Worked so far,” she says, voice teasing but sharp. “You’re still standing.”

I turn away, dragging a hand through my hair, boots scuffing loud on the floor. The screens beep steady behind me, sensors clear, but my head’s a storm, tangled up in her.

“You don’t get it,” I say, facing the wall, voice dropping low. “One mistake, and it’s over. For both of us.”

“I get it,” she says, softer now, stepping closer, her bare feet whispering on the cement. “But I’m not stopping. Not for you, not for anyone.”

I spin back, meeting her gaze, chest rising fast. “Then what am I supposed to do?” I ask, voice louder than I want, echoing in the tight space. “Watch you burn?”

She holds my stare, fierce and unyielding. “You could burn with me,” she says, voice quiet but heavy, sinking deep. “Or step aside.”

The words hit like a punch, lodging in my gut. My fear twists into anger, but it’s more—her recklessness digs at me because I care, too damn much, and it’s unraveling me.

I step closer, boots striking hard again. “You’re not making this easy,” I say, voice low, rough with everything I can’t voice.

“Good,” she says, lifting her chin high. “Easy’s boring.” Her eyes dare me, bright and bold under the flickering lamp.

I stare at her, torn silk hanging loose, chaos staring back at me. My hands twitch, aching to reach out, to pull her close or shove her back—anything to cut through this pull.

The safehouse closes in, walls tight, ceiling low, lamp buzzing faint above. She’s a fuse I can’t douse, burning through every defense I’ve got, and I’m caught in the blaze.

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