Page 71 of Veil of Ashes

Now I was his scalpel.

Same edge. Just slower.

Footsteps echo behind me, too soft for sand.

I turn.

Sylvara stands in the corridor entrance, eyes gleaming with unshed tears—but not weak. Not now. That flame’s still burning in her.

She doesn’t speak at first. Just walks toward me, slow, sure, stopping only when there’s no more distance between us.

Her gaze pins me.

“You think this is noble?” she asks, voice quiet but cutting. “It’s not. It’s just another form of running.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “This time, I’m standing.”

Her eyes flash. “You call this standing? Marching into a slaughterhouse for closure?”

“I call it choosing the field instead of being dragged to it.”

She stares up at me like she’s memorizing my face. Like she’s trying to find the place I’m hiding the part of myself she already knows is gone.

Then she kisses me.

Not desperate.

Not broken.

Deep. Certain. Like sealing a promise in blood.

My hands slide into her hair. I kiss her back with every part of me I don’t know how to name.

When we part, her breath trembles just once.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” she whispers.

I brush her jaw with my thumb. “I won’t lie to you.”

“That’s not a promise.”

“No,” I say. “It’s the truth.”

Back in the main room, Ettore finishes stamping the last of the passports.

He doesn't look up as we approach.

“They’re clean,” he says. “Fully forged. Embedded with credentials. French aliases—easier passage through the Lyon corridor. If you get out, no one will follow.”

I glance at the envelope. Two passports. One is mine.

I hand it back.

Sylvara doesn’t stop me. But I feel her watching.

Ettore nods. “Understood.”

He slides the envelope into her pack.

---