Page 84 of Veil of Dust

He just sits.

Breathes.

Bleeds.

I don’t look at him.

But I let my fingers loosen around The Star.

It rests on my palm. Pale. Burnished at the edges. Ink faded from years of use.

I study it like it might change shape.

I wonder if he sees it.

I wonder if he knows.

“I heard Leon,” I say quietly.

Tiziano stills.

No breath. No movement.

“I was pulling cards. Just now. And he…he spoke.”

“To you?” he asks. Not doubtful. Not scared.

Just curious.

“To me.”

“What did he say?”

“Trust you.”

That gets him.

His throat works. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

Then—soft: “I don’t deserve that.”

I nod. “Maybe not. But I heard him.”

“And you believe him?”

“I didn’t believe in anything,” I say. “Until tonight.”

Another silence.

This one different.

He leans forward, hand still cradling the bleeding one.

“Why me?” he asks.

“What?”

“Why trust me now? Why let me stay?”

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