Page 9 of Veil of Dust

She doesn’t even shake.

Doesn’t touch it.

Doesn’t thank me.

Just stares.

That stare could gut a man.

And she wants me to know it.

My grin slips in then, sharp and brief.

The bar moves around us. Glasses clink. Laughter hums. A low trumpet rises from the speakers, curling blues around the edges of the room like smoke. But none of it touches the space between us.

That space is carved clean, hot. Ready to catch fire.

She’ll open the ledger.

Maybe not tonight.

Maybe not when she’s sober.

But she will.

And when she does?

She’ll be mine—not bought, not owned, but tangled.

I walk out without another word.

I don’t glance back.

There’s no need.

Because the fuse?

It’s already lit.

Chapter 2 – Vespera

The cigarette’s almost done, mostly ash now. I sit on an upside-down crate, back pressed to a stack of liquor boxes that sweat in the heat. One bare bulb buzzes above me, dull and yellow. The whole room smells like stale booze and warm glass.

The ledger’s in front of me. Still closed. Still sitting there, as if it knows it won.

I take another drag and blow the smoke toward the ceiling. It curls up, slow and aimless.

I told myself I wouldn’t open it.

But I do.

The cover flips back without resistance. The pages are smooth and thick, too clean on the surface. But the contents? Dirty. Real dirty. The numbers hit hard—fake corporations, laundered cash, paid-off cops, loops meant to burn out and leave nothing behind.

It’s not bleeding, but it may as well be. The damage is all over it.

This bar used to be the one place in this city that still felt clean. Not perfect, but mine.

Now, it’s been dragged into this, too.

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