Page 128 of Veil of Dust

Others bring food. Dishes wrapped in foil. Gumbo, rice, fresh cornbread. Still steaming. Still made with care. They set the trays down with a nod, nothing dramatic, just generous.

They believe in this place.

That hits harder than I expect.

One of the kids flips the light switch. For the first time in months, the overhead lights come on bright. No flicker. No hesitation. Just clean, warm light.

They cheer.

It’s not loud. But it’s deep. Joy, real and earned. It moves through the bar like a wave. I feel it settle in my chest.

We’re alive.

I blink fast. The emotion catches me by surprise. It’s not grief. Just a lot of feeling at once. The kind that fills every part of you until it leaks out a little.

Above the door, the neon sign hums.

Vespera.

Bright red. Steady.

It shines again like it used to. Not a warning. Not a shield. Just a name. A truth.

Vespera Caruso.

Owner of this bar. Of this second chance. Of this peace.

People keep arriving, but it never gets loud. The room fills in naturally. Tables claimed. Drinks passed. Conversations picked up mid-sentence, as if no time passed at all.

It’s not chaos. It’s connection.

The flowers add something to the beauty, soft, fragrant. Mixed with coffee and bread and a bit of citrus. The scent of a place that’s alive again.

This is what we were fighting for.

Not just safety. Not just survival.

This.

Laughter. Shared space. People who choose to stay.

The shelves gleam. Tomas spent hours on them last night after the last chair was flipped. He’s behind the bar now, sleeves rolled, already pouring drinks. His grin is wide, his rhythm easy.

He fits here.

So does Tiziano.

He wipes down the counter, grabs someone a coffee, and smiles when he catches my eye. That’s all it takes to calm me again. He doesn’t need to say anything.

“You’re my strength,” I say, watching him. “You and Tomas—you’re the reason I can breathe in this space.”

The paint cans stay stacked for now. Ready. Waiting for a quiet afternoon. A day with more time. But their presence is enough. The promise is there.

Plates pass hands. People eat. The room hums with comfort.

We’re building again.

Not from scratch this time. From memory. From loyalty. From love.

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