Page 57 of Veil of Dust

I reach for her hand, desperate to bridge the gap, to hold onto what’s slipping away.

She pulls away, her movement quick, final, leaving my fingers grasping air.

I don’t chase it. I let my hand fall, heavy, useless, against my knee.

She could gut me right now, I think, the thought clear, unflinching. And I’d bleed willingly.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in, the storm’s roar louder, shaking the windows like it’s trying to break through. The jazz track loops, its mournful notes tangling with the rain, filling the silence where our words fail.

Vespera remains kneeling, her eyes locked on mine, gray and unyielding. I see Leon in them, the ghost of her grief, and I see myself, the man who has failed her, who has carried the Elder’s sins for too long. The tarot cards on the shelf catch the light, their edges curling, as if they’re watching, waiting for the next card to fall.

My coat’s still dripping, the puddle beneath me spreading, mingling with the dust and the weight of this moment. Her apartment smells of coffee, old vinyl, and the faint trace of her, whiskey and defiance, a scent I’d know anywhere.

I want to say more, to beg, to promise, but my throat’s too tight, my guilt too heavy. She’s right, I let her love me with a lie between us, even if I didn’t know it at the start. The Elder’s orders, his contracts, they’ve stained me, and I’ve dragged her into that stain.

The storm outside peaks, thunder cracking sharp enough to rattle the shelves, the record player skipping for a second before the jazz resumes. Her hand twitches again, like she’s fighting the urge to reach out or push me away, and I hold my breath, waiting for her to decide.

She doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t soften. But she doesn’t stand, doesn’t walk away, and that’s enough to keep me here, kneeling, offering what little I have left.

Moments after she threw that punch in the back room, I found myself climbing the narrow stairs behind the bar—returning to the one place I couldn’t stay away from.

The bar below us is quiet, its usual hum silenced by the late hour, but I feel its pulse through the floor, a reminder of what we’ve built, what we’re fighting for. Alfeo’s out there, the Elder’sshadow lingers, and the world’s closing in, but right now, it’s just us, caught in this fragile, breaking moment.

I’m not him, I told her, and I meant it. But the truth is messier, and she sees it, sees me, in a way that leaves no room for lies.

The rain keeps falling, the jazz keeps moaning, and I kneel, waiting for her judgment, knowing I’d bleed for her, knowing I already have.

Still kneeling in her private office above the bar, I brace myself for whatever comes next.

She lunges forward.

Palms slam into my chest, sharp and fast, the force rocking me back on my knees. Her hands hit like a storm breaking, raw and unyielding.

I don’t block her. My arms stay loose, open, offering no resistance.

I let it land, the impact a dull ache that grounds me in her anger, her pain.

“Close enough!” she yells, her voice cracking with fury, sharp enough to cut through the rain’s roar outside. “Close enough, Tiziano!”

I stay kneeling, hands open at my sides, letting her hit me if she needs to, letting her pour out whatever she’s carrying. My coat drips steadily, rain mixing with the blood crusted on my lip, pooling beneath me like a confession.

But she doesn’t strike again.

Her hands shake where they grip my shirt, fingers twisting the wet fabric, like she can’t decide whether to hold on or shove harder. Her knuckles brush my chest, trembling with the weight of what’s breaking between us.

Then she lets go. Her hands fall away, leaving cold where her warmth had been.

Her breath is rough, ragged, catching in her throat. Her eyes, unreadable now, blank in a way that hits harder than thescreaming, like she’s locked herself somewhere I can’t reach.

“You need to go,” she says, voice low, steady, but laced with something final.

I don’t move. My knees stay pressed to the rug, my body rooted, unwilling to let this be the end.

She backs away, one step, then another, putting space between us that feels like a chasm.

“I said get out.” Her voice is harder now, a command that slices through the room.

“Vespera…” I start, my voice soft, pleading, reaching for something to hold onto.

---