Page 43 of Veil of Smoke

A part of me watches like I’m outside my body.

He would’ve killed me. There’s no question. I know that now in my bones.

But I didn’t wait.

Dario steps from behind the container like a ghost. His coat’s zipped high, gloves tucked in one hand. His eyes flick from the body to me. Then stay on me.

“You timed it perfectly,” he says.

I wipe the knife on the guy’s hoodie and hand it to him.

He takes it without a word, wraps it in a cloth, tucks it away. Then he offers me his gloves.

“You’re shaking,” he says.

I hadn’t noticed.

I slide the gloves on. My fingers don’t stop trembling right away, but they feel less raw. My mouth tastes like iron.

I meet his eyes.

“I didn’t think I could do it,” I say. “But when I saw his eyes… I didn’t hesitate.”

“That’s the part that matters,” Dario replies.

His voice is low. Not proud, not cold. Just grounded. Real.

I crouch beside the body. His hoodie’s soaked now. His breath comes in short, broken sounds. He’s not dead yet, but he’s on the edge.

For a moment, I want to look into his face. To see what killing looks like when it’s mine.

But I don’t.

“Help me up,” I say.

Dario reaches out and pulls me to my feet.

My knees don’t buckle.

He studies me again, slower this time. “Still with me?”

I nod.

I hear the same question behind the words: Is this the point of no return?

It is.

The dock groans again, but this time it’s not the wind.

It’s steps—fast, sharp, closing in.

“Viviana!” Dario’s voice cuts through the space, sharp and instinctive.

I spin.

Another man charges out of the haze behind the shipping container. Taller than the first. Broader. And faster.

His blade flashes as he lunges toward me.

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