Page 89 of Veil of Dust

Two.

Then they scatter.

Fast. Wide.

No one looks back.

We don’t chase.

We don’t need to.

The message is clear enough.

They thought they could test us. Shake us.

But they came light.

And now they know what we look like when we don’t hold back.

Vespera lowers her knife. Her shoulders drop a notch, but the fire in her eyes doesn't dim.

She turns to me.

Blood splatters her cheek.

Her shirt’s soaked at the waist—someone got close. Too close.

But she’s upright. Unbroken.

Her hand reaches out, grabs my forearm. Tight.

Our blood’s mixed now. Hers on my knuckles. Mine on her sleeve. It glues us together.

“We’re in this,” she says.

Her voice isn’t loud. She doesn’t need it to be.

She just says it like a fact. Like a vow that’s already been carved into the street.

I nod.

That’s all.

No need for a speech.

My hand closes around hers.

It’s slick. Warm. Alive.

She doesn’t let go.

Neither do I.

We stand in the middle of the street, surrounded by the wreckage we just made, and I know we’ve passed the point of no return.

We’re killers now.

Together.

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