Page 120 of Veil of Dust

There’s nothing left that matters. No clothes. No skin. Just heat dust, bones and a few pieces that won’t burn all the way through.

I leave them there.

This is mine now. This place. This end.

“He dies here,” I say. My voice is quiet. Even.

I let the words settle in. They don’t echo.

I walk.

The machete swings loosely from my hand. My fingers are stiff, but they hold. I drag it through the muck without thinking.

My boots are caked. The swamp pulls at me, still hungry. But I’m not offering anything else.

Ash streaks my arms. My jeans are soaked to the knees. There’s soot in my hair, in my mouth. I taste it when I breathe.

But I keep going.

He’s gone.

And I’m still here.

The mist is thicker now. It curls around my legs. It settles low over the water, hiding the worst of what I just left behind.

Good.

Let the swamp take him.

He earned that kind of ending.

Somewhere behind me, the last of the embers crackles out. I don’t turn back.

I press forward.

The trees thin. The light changes. A dull gray glow spreads through the branches. Morning’s not here yet, but it’s close. The sky turns purple at the edges.

My machete glints faintly. A line of orange at the edge of the blade. Not blood this time. Just dawn.

I’m still breathing. That’s all I need.

Tiziano, I think.

His name hits hard in my chest. Not like pain. Like heat. He’s why I’m here. Why I didn’t stop.

You died for this. I won’t waste it.

I won’t walk away from what you bought me.

The swamp lets me go a little easier now. The mud’s still thick, but it releases faster. Like it’s done with me too.

Good.

I reach the drier ground, my feet dragging but steady.

I’m tired. But I’m clear.

The woman who walked into that fire isn’t the one who came out of it.

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