Page 89 of Veil of Smoke

The skyline glints sharper now, dawn still hours off. I feel the night wrapping us, holding us here in this fragile calm.

“We’re a team,” I say, voice firm. “Not just you pulling me along.”

“Never was,” he says, fingers tightening on my hand. “You’ve been leading too.”

I smile, small but real, and it feels good. “Then we keep going.”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning back beside me. “We don’t stop.”

“They’ll rebuild,” I say, staring at the dying flames. “But not fast.”

“Gives us time,” he says, voice low. “To hit again.”

I nod, feeling that purpose ignite anew. “Next time, we take more.”

He turns to me, eyes catching mine. “You’re sure?”

“Surer than I’ve ever been,” I say, voice steady. “This is my fight.”

He brushes ash from my cheek, his touch light. “Ours.”

I lean into his hand, just for a beat. “We need a plan,” I say, voice firm. “Tomorrow.”

“Tonight,” he counters, shifting closer. “We don’t wait.”

I nod, feeling the urgency spark. “Then we map it out.”

He stands, offering his hand, and I take it. My fingers fit into his, warm and sure, pulling me up beside him.

The fire’s a dull streak now, smoke rising thick. I feel it in my chest—the war we’ve started, the one we’ll finish.

“They don’t know me yet,” I say, voice low. “What I can do.”

“They’ll learn,” he says, stepping to the ledge with me. “Fast.”

I look at him, his face sharp in the dim light. “Good.”

We stand there, shoulder to shoulder, the river glinting below. The night stretches out, cold and crisp, but I feel warm, alive, present.

This isn’t fear anymore. It’s choice—mine, ours—and I’m not letting go.

He turns to me, his hand still in mine, fingers rough and warm. “Come here,” he says, voice low, tugging me toward the mattress.

I follow, boots scuffing the gravel soft. He stops at the mattress, turns me to face him. His eyes catch the distant skyline lights, sharp and fierce, and my pulse kicks up.

“Lie down,” he says, voice firm but laced with heat. I ease onto the mattress, springs creaking as I stretch out on my back, staring up at him.

He kneels beside me, pulling his jacket off, letting it drop. “Tonight, I’m in charge,” he says, reaching into his pocket.

I watch, breath hitching, as he pulls out a strip of black fabric. “Eyes closed,” he says, leaning over me, tying it snug around my head.

The world goes dark, the blindfold soft against my skin. I feel the cold bite sharper now, but his presence looms, warm and close.

His hands find my jacket, unbuttoning it quick. “You’re mine,” he says, peeling it open, sliding my shirt up and off.

My chest rises fast, exposed to the night. He unhooks my bra, tosses it aside, and my nipples tighten under the chill.

“Fuck,” he breathes, fingers brushing my breasts, light and teasing. I arch up, a soft moan escaping as he circles the peaks.

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