Page 46 of Veil of Dust

I pick up the crate and slide it into the wall recess, behind the false front we built last month. The wood scrapes softly, settling into place. I hear her breathing, not heavy, not calm.

Measured, like she’s holding herself as tightly as I am.

“You think this ends clean?” she asks, her voice low, probing.

“No,” I say, turning to face her again, my hands empty now but heavy with what I’ve done.

She leans against the shelf, her posture casual, yet her eyes are anything but. They hold me, steady and unyielding.

“You ever think about what comes after?” she asks, the question catching me off guard.

I pause.

“After what?” My voice is quieter now, searching her face for the answer she’s chasing.

“All of it,” she says, her gaze drifting to the crates, then back to me. “The Order. The blood. This mess.”

“After means I lived through it,” I reply, the truth slipping out before I can stop it.

She nods, a small motion, but it carries weight, like she’s weighing my words against her own.

Then she says, “I don’t think about after either.”

We stay like that for a moment. The basement holds us, its walls close.

The storm’s still outside, pressing against the world like it’s waiting for us to blink, ready to crash through and drown us both.

She adjusts the knife at her waistband. I notice the grip, the black cord worn but sure. It’s the one Tomas gave her, a new constant at her side. She hasn’t let it go since, like it’s part of her now.

“He was right,” I say, breaking the silence.

“About what?” she asks, her eyebrow lifting, curiosity sharpening her tone.

“Tomas.”

She tilts her head, waiting for more.

“He said Alfeo’s pushing harder,” I say, my voice steady, grounding us in the threat we both feel closing in.

She exhales through her nose, a sound that’s almost a scoff but not quite. “Then it’s not just paranoia.”

“No,” I say, meeting her eyes. “It’s not.”

Her eyes drift to the crate, now hidden behind the false wall. Then they turn back to me, more slowly, as if she’s piecing something together.

“You’d kill for me,” she says, not a question, her voice low, steady, like she’s testing the truth of it.

“Yes,” I reply, the word simple, final, carrying every vow I’ve made in blood.

She looks away like that answer was expected, but not easy to hold. Her face tightens, just a fraction, and I see the weight settle on her.

And I know I’ve crossed a line neither of us said out loud.

The basement feels smaller now, the walls pressing closer, the hum of the fridges louder, like a pulse that won’t stop. Her presence fills the space, not just her body but her defiance, her strength, and the way she stands against the world I’ve dragged her into.

The storm outside rumbles, closer now, a low growl that vibrates through the concrete. Alfeo’s out there, his hitters waiting, and the Order’s shadow looms larger every day. But here, with her, I feel the only thing that matters.

She’s becoming the fire I’d burn for.

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