Page 28 of Veil of Dust

She’s not emotional. She doesn’t talk too much. She waits.

She’s patient.

And she’s watching.

I set the card face up beside the candle.

If Tiziano is my way in, Bianca’s the lock. And I’m caught in the middle—holding a ledger that shouldn’t be in my hands and feeling things for someone I should’ve kept at a distance.

I drag my fingers down the side of my neck.

The skin’s still warm, still marked where he kissed me. Where his mouth was. Where his hands gripped too tight because we didn’t want soft.

I should get up. Shower. Wash off the scent of him.

I draw another card.

The Tower.

Of course.

I stare at it.

A bolt splits the structure in two. People fall from the windows. Fire blazes at the top. Stones break loose.

This isn’t a warning anymore. It’s a report.

I lean back. The blanket slips off one shoulder, and I don’t fix it.

My body aches, but not from fighting. From how far I let myself fall.

There was a moment—on the bar, of all places—where nothing else existed. Not the alley. Not the body. Not the game we’re all playing.

Just him.

And me.

Fifteen minutes. That’s all I gave myself.

Now, I’m sitting here reminding myself why I stopped letting that happen.

I slide the two cards aside and place my palm over them for a second.

Then, I fold them back into the deck, put the deck in its pouch, and set it aside.

The chair creaks when I get up.

I move slowly. The rain’s louder now. It hits the windows harder, like it’s trying to come in.

I grab a stick of incense from the shelf, light it, and drop it in the copper bowl near the bed.

The smell fills the space fast—rose oil, smoke, something faintly burnt.

I walk to the mirror.

My reflection looks worse than I expected.

Circles under my eyes. Lips swollen. Hair a mess. I don’t look like someone in control. I look like someone who’s trying to remember how to pretend.

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