Page 34 of Veil of Dust

This wasn’t a message.

It was balance.

“For her,” I say, wiping the blade on my shirt. “Always her.”

The words don’t echo. They settle into the air, quiet and final.

Her face stays with me. The way she looks at me when she’s not trying to scare me off. The weight in her eyes. She doesn’t know I’m out here doing this for her. If she did, she’d hate it. She’d hate me.

She’d tell me I was wasting my time.

And I’d still do it again tomorrow.

I turn back, head toward the trees.

The mud pulls at my boots. Branches brush my shoulders, trailing across my shirt like the swamp wants me to carry something with me.

My shirt clings tightly to my chest. Blood, water, sweat—doesn’t matter. It’s all part of the job.

The machete drips. It’s not clean, but it’s done.

I can feel the ache in my legs and in my arms.

Doesn’t matter.

All I feel under it is heat.

That heat belongs to her.

The fog gets thicker as I move, covering everything.

Bugs hum around me. The sound creeps in through the trees and settles behind my ears, loud but steady. Like the swamp’s breathing.

The path narrows, but I don’t stop.

The water rises, and the light fades, but I keep walking.

Back toward the city. Back toward her.

The water goes still.

Bubbles rise once, then stop. The ripples flatten until the surface turns dark and smooth again. The gator disappears beneath it, dragging the body with it. No splash. No struggle.

He’s gone.

That part’s over.

I keep my grip tight on the machete and let out a breath. It’s not relief, just pressure leaving my ribs. The tension that built up during the chase, the fight—it slips out now that the job’s done. My chest feels hollow, but steady. My heart slows, syncing with the lazy pull of the swamp around me.

The trees groan in the wind. Their branches hang low, weighed down by moss. The storm passed hours ago, but the swamp still carries the memory.

I turn to leave.

That’s when I hear it.

Something quiet. Not footsteps. Just movement. A shift in air, a light sound across the surface.

It’s not far.

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