Page 122 of Iron Roses

My boot drives into his chest.

He crashes onto his back.

I straddle him, knees pinning his arms. My fists land again—one after the other. Face. Mouth. Temple. Skin splits. Blood coats my knuckles.

He groans. One arm twitches.

I punch again.

The resistance fades.

His head rolls sideways. Mouth slack. Eyes glassed. One leg shifts once. Then still.

His chest rises once. Then nothing.

He’s done.

I sit back, breath ragged. My hands shake. Blood soaks into the cuffs of my sleeves.

The dock groans beneath my boots as I return to her. Elaria lies where I left her—soaked, trembling, skin drawn tight over bruised bone. Her shirt clings to her ribs, her lashes stuck together with salt.

I kneel, one arm sliding beneath her shoulders, the other beneath her knees. I lift her. One arm beneath her shoulders, the other under her knees. Her skin is cold.

Each step away from the edge drags pain through my knees. The boards beneath my boots flex slightly with every shift of my body. Water drips from her clothes, trailing behind us.

Giovanna walks beside me. Her hands hang at her sides, relaxed. Her eyes never leave Elaria’s face.

We pass the spot where the fight ended. Fausto’s body still lies there—limp, blood pooled beneath his cheek, chest unmoving.

My eyes don’t stay on him. I take two more steps.

A floorboard creaks sharply behind me.

Then it’s too late. A boot slams into the back of my right knee. My leg collapses. My balance tilts left—Elaria’s body slips from my arms. My shoulder twists, trying to catch her.

Fausto’s full weight slams into my back.

His forearm crashes against the side of my head. My vision explodes with white. My temple cracks the dock railing. I stumble, knees scraping splinters. My body pitches forward.

Elaria hits the planks hard. Her body rolls twice before coming to a stop against a cleat.

I spin, hands scrambling for grip.

His hand wraps around her ankle.

His other arm hooks under her back. He’s panting—blood pouring from his nose, teeth gritted. His mouth twitches with something half-mad.

He meets my eyes. Then he throws himself backward off the edge—taking her with him.

Their bodies vanish over the dock. The sound of the water taking them is sharp. I crawl forward, arms shaking.

The surface ripples once, twice—then smooths.

No hands. No hair. No breath.

Gone.

My palm slaps the edge of the dock. I drag myself forward, chest heaving. The water doesn’t move. The sky doesn’t speak.

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