Page 132 of Veil of Dust

She watches me while I do it.

“You’re not Order anymore,” she said once.

She’s right.

I don’t miss it. The power, the fear. It was a weight I thought I needed. But this? This is better.

The bar hums with conversation. Jazz spills out of the old speaker in the corner. The lanterns burn low, softening the room with their glow.

I set the wine glass in front of her. She takes it without a word, her fingers brushing mine.

That’s all it takes.

Everything that matters is here.

In the warmth of her touch. In the rhythm of the bar. In the quiet understanding that we made it.

She takes a sip of wine. Then leans against the counter, facing me. Her posture relaxed. Her smile easy.

“I love you,” she says.

Just like that.

No buildup. No hesitation.

I nod. “Always.”

That’s it.

That’s enough.

We don’t need anything else.

The candles flicker again, throwing gold across her face. Her curls catch the light, her eyes shine like dusk, like firelight.

Like hope.

She’s not a symbol. Not some metaphor to save me.

She’s just her.

Real. Present. Strong.

I keep my hand on her hip. Feel her heartbeat through the fabric of her dress. Know she’s still fighting. Still standing. Still choosing this—me, the bar, the life we’ve built from the wreckage.

The jukebox shifts to a slower song. The notes linger, soft and steady.

I listen.

So does she.

We don’t speak.

We don’t have to.

This is our peace. We fought for it. We earned it.

Whatever’s still out there—whatever shadows remain—they don’t get this. They don’t get us.

---