Page 81 of Veil of Dust

Conflict.

Stalemate.

Tiziano.

My throat tightens.

My palm presses into the wood floor to ground myself.

I look at the map. At the red mark over my bar. At the X over the collapsed shack.

All of it spiraling from this room. From this man. From this moment.

“Trust him,” Leon said.

But how?

How do I trust a man who bleeds truth only after it stings?

Who gives his body like a vow but hides every part of his past like it’s poison?

I press my forehead to my knee.

I sit there for a long time, the cards cool between my fingers.

The floor creaks.

No knock. No footsteps. Just the door—hinges groaning low like it’s trying to warn me.

I don’t turn around.

I already know.

Tiziano.

I can smell him before I see him. Smoke. Gunpowder. Metal. Blood.

He’s standing in the doorway, one hand stained red to the wrist, shirt half untucked, face streaked with sweat and soot.

The storm’s still in him. But it’s quieter now.

He doesn’t speak right away.

I look down at The Star, still clutched in my palm.

My fingers twitch over it, trace the points of the illustration like it’s a secret code I forgot how to read.

Then he says, “We’re close.”

His voice is lower than usual. Like it got dragged through gravel.

“They’re retreating.”

I nod once. Slow.

But I don’t get up. I don’t ask questions.

I just tighten my grip around the card.

---