Page 47 of Veil of Ashes
My eyes track the bidder. He’s cartel—Eastern route, mid-tier muscle. Probably laundering for someone bigger. That makes the tag even more critical.
“You’re sure he’s clean enough to reach?” I ask.
She nods, already calculating.
Another bid lands—high enough to narrow the room. Roland milks the pause. The man in navy lifts his paddle again.
Sold.
Applause follows like dry leaves. The painting disappears behind black curtains.
Sylvara shifts, clutch already in hand. “I’ve got ten minutes before the transfer.”
I don’t like it. There are too many moving parts. Too many chances for someone to recognize her—or stop her.
I catch her wrist gently. “You sure you want to do this alone?”
She meets my eyes. Her mask hides everything but the blaze behind it.
“I was alone when I survived the first time,” she says. “This is just cleanup.”
She slips away before I can answer, heels vanishing into the noise.
I hold position, eyes scanning the room. Rizzi is talking to Roland now, laughing like nothing matters. But I see the glint in his eyes. He’s watching every movement, even when he pretends not to.
My hand brushes the grip of my pistol again.
I count the seconds. Seven minutes pass. Then ten. Then twelve.
Panic hums in my spine, but just as I’m about to move—
She returns.
Hair intact. Mask straight. Breathing even. Her clutch swings lightly from her wrist.
“It’s tagged,” she whispers. “No complications.”
Relief nearly drops me. But I don’t let it show.
I offer my arm again. She takes it.
We blend back into the crowd. The painting is gone. The buyer is marked. Rizzi’s operation just lost a layer of protection.
Mission complete.
But none of that settles me.
Because somewhere between the velvet walls and the smell of oil paint and sweat, I realized something I can’t afford to say out loud.
She’s not just part of the plan anymore.
She is the plan.
And I don’t know if that makes me her shield… or her weakness.
The ballroom shifts around us. More lots. More lies. We smile, we play our parts. But behind every mask, something real begins to flicker.
Something dangerous.
