Page 118 of Veil of Dust

The frogs are louder now. The water stirs beside me as something slides through the dark. Maybe a gator. Maybe the swamp, coming to finish what I started.

I don’t look back.

Alfeo’s body is still behind me. I don’t check if he’s breathing. I don’t wait for some last line.

He’s done.

The blood dries on my blade, thick and tacky. It smears across my fingers when I adjust my grip.

I move again.

The mist thickens. The trees close in.

But they don’t frighten me.

This is my territory now. The shadows answer to me.

You didn’t break me, Alfeo. Not even close.

The dirt grows firmer under my boots. I’m getting close to the edge of the trees. I can smell the shift—less rot, more pine. Somewhere beyond the fog, the city’s waiting.

And I’m going back with this fire behind me. With your blood on my hands. And no regret in my chest.

I pass the cypress trees. Their roots stretch wide, their moss brushing my shoulders like they’ve seen this before. They’ll hold what I left behind.

Let them.

This place knows what it is.

So do I.

The sky starts to shift. Faint light creeps through the canopy. A thin slice of gold touches the water.

It’s enough.

I don’t need a full sunrise.

Just enough to see where I’m going.

I breathe in deep. My body’s sore. My arms shake when I let them. But it doesn’t matter.

I’m still here.

Still standing.

Still walking.

This is the end.

Not mine.

His.

And I’m ready to begin again.

I drag the branches from the edge of the trail, their bark rough under my palms. Damp moss clings to them, heavy with mud. My boots sink into the muck with every step. It pulls at me, slow and thick, but I keep going. Step, drag, plant. Over and over.

This isn’t ceremony. This is cleanup.

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