Page 36 of Veil of Dust

I know they were real.

My pulse kicks again, not from fear, just recognition. Something’s changed. This wasn’t about Alfeo. Or his men. Or the Order. This was something else.

Something older.

Something I can’t explain.

I don’t chase them.

I don’t shout.

I don’t wait for them to return.

I wipe the blade off against my shirt. The blood smears, dark and sticky. I drag it across a patch of moss. Let it absorb the rest. Then, I slide the machete into the sheath strapped to my back.

And I walk.

The swamp clings to me. Roots catch at my boots. Water tugs at my legs. My pants are soaked halfway up. Cold. Heavy.

My hands are sticky. Blood dried into the folds of my fingers. It flakes down my wrist, stiff where it’s settled along the edge of my sleeve. The breeze cuts across my neck, sharp where the sweat cooled.

The trees thin near the road. I spot the rental where I left it—parked under a rotting sign. The lettering’s mostly gone, just enough left to tell me I’m at the edge of something.

I climb in, and the leather seat squeaks under me.

I turn the key.

The engine growls—not clean, but it runs.

I don’t turn on the radio. No news. No sound. Just the road in front of me.

The city’s awake by the time I make it back. The sun’s higher now, cutting through what’s left of the fog. Doesn’t help. The cold I brought with me doesn’t burn off.

The bar is closed. Neon lights are off. The windows are dim, reflecting the street like mirrors.

I park around back.

The alley smells like wet concrete and spilled beer.

I walk up the stairs. Each step complains under my boots. Old wood. No surprise.

I leave the machete in the trunk. It’s done for now.

But I don’t clean myself off.

I want her to see.

To know what I did.

What I dragged into the swamp and buried so her name stays untouched.

The back door creaks when I push it open. The hinges groan like they feel it too.

Inside, the scent of lemon oil, coffee, and bourbon permeates, all hers, settled into every corner of the place.

My chest tightens.

I don’t stop walking.

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