Page 6 of Veil of Dust

That’s something.

I rest my fingers on the ledger again. I’m not pushing it—just reminding her it’s there. The thing’s packed—fake names, dead accounts, buried transactions.

“You want security,” I say. “I want quiet.”

She doesn’t turn; she just keeps typing.

“Could work out for both of us.”

She snorts, one short sound, no smile with it.

“Sounds more like blackmail.”

She’s not wrong.

But that doesn’t make me wrong, either.

“I pay well.”

“Not interested.”

“I keep my mouth shut.”

“Don’t believe you.”

I smile, just barely. “We don’t have to get along.”

“Good,” she says. “Because I don’t.”

She turns back and stares me down. Her hair still reflects that neon glow, but her expression is steady. Her hands rest flat on the counter, ready to shove me off or take a swing.

The rest of the bar doesn’t notice any of it. That’s the thing about a place like this—everyone’s too busy with their own mess to see someone else’s coming.

“You came back,” she says.

“You left the door open.”

“I don’t lock up this early.”

“You should.”

“Why?”

I lean forward, elbows on the bar. “Because I’m not the worst thing you’ll deal with.”

She doesn’t blink, doesn’t back off.

She’s not going to make this easy.

Good.

I push the ledger a little closer. “Open it.”

“No.”

“Just read one page.”

“Still no.”

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