Page 136 of Veil of Obsession

He smiles faintly. “Had to burn a few bridges.”

I laugh, bitter and small. “You always do.”

Another silence, but it’s not empty this time. It’s full of all the words we can’t say. Finally, he reaches for my hand.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs.

“I wish I believed you,” I whisper.

His grip tightens. “Then I’ll prove it.”

I don’t look at him. Can’t. But I let him hold my hand.

Because despite everything—the chaos, the silence, the motel room we’re both too tired to hate—he came back.

The silence stretches—not thick this time, but loose, like it could fray apart at any second. I’m still holding his hand, and that’s saying something. My fingers tremble slightly against his, a tremble I hope he doesn’t feel. But of course, he does.

“You eaten?” he asks, voice rougher now.

I shake my head. “Didn’t feel like it.”

He nods once, pushes up from the bed, and walks to the little kitchenette like this is normal. Like we’re normal. Opens the mini fridge, rummages, finds a pack of yogurt and a stale granola bar.

“This all you bought?” he asks.

“No,” I say flatly. “There’s also half a bag of hot Cheetos and a soda that tastes like battery acid.”

He snorts—soft, involuntary. It’s the closest we’ve gotten to a truce all night.

He tosses me the granola bar, and I catch it mid-air, ripping it open with my teeth. It tastes like cardboard, but I eat it anyway. He leans against the counter, arms crossed now. Watching me.

“What?” I ask.

Lucio shrugs. “You just look like you haven’t slept in three years.”

“That’s funny,” I mutter. “Because I haven’t.”

I toss the wrapper onto the table, then stand up and cross to the window again. The curtains are thin, and beyond them the Vegas sky is turning gray—not dawn, but the kind of pre-morning where everything feels too still. Like the world’s holding its breath.

I don’t hear him move, but I feel him behind me.

“You’re scared,” he says.

“No shit.” I turn to face him. “You think I don’t have a right to be? You think hiding in motel rooms like we’re criminals makes me feel safe? I didn’t grow up like you, Lucio. I didn’t grow up expecting to be hunted.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes flickers.

“You think I wanted this for you?” he says quietly.

“I don’t know what you want anymore,” I say, softer now.

“I want you,” he says with the kind of simplicity that makes my stomach drop. “I want this to work. I want a life. A real one.”

I blink at him. “Then why does it feel like you’re pushing me away every chance you get?”

He exhales hard, turns from me, and starts pacing—one, two, three steps before he turns back.

“Because I’m scared too,” he snaps. “Because every day, I wake up thinking this—us—is borrowed time. That one of these days, someone’s gonna drag me back and make me pay for all of it. And when they do, you’ll be standing right beside me. That’s what terrifies me.”