The cabin wasn't meant to be found.
That was the point.
It sat deep in the forest, half-swallowed by moss and pine needles, the kind of place that looked forgotten enough to be safe. Santiago circled it once before letting me step closer, eyes sharp, senses stretched thin.
"The Veil's weaker here," he said. "Not gone. Just… muted."
"Because it's old?" I asked.
"Because it's quiet," he replied.
Inside, the air smelled of damp wood and ash. One room. A narrow bed. A table scarred with old burn marks. Whoever had built it hadn't planned on comfort—just survival.
Santiago shut the door behind us and immediately stepped away.
Of course he did.
I dropped my pack by the wall, suddenly aware of how small the space was. How every movement echoed. How every breath felt shared whether we wanted it to be or not.
"You don't have to stand over there like I'm radioactive," I said.
His jaw tightened. "You might as well be."
That stung. "That's not fair."
"No," he agreed quietly. "It's necessary."
Silence stretched between us, thick and loaded. Outside, the forest shifted, wind threading through branches like a whisper that almost formed words.
I sat on the edge of the bed, exhaustion finally catching up with me. My hands were still shaking, though I hadn't noticed until now.
Santiago noticed.
He always did.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across the room.
I laughed weakly. "That's worse."
He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. "Eliza…"
I looked up.
For a moment, the restraint cracked. Just a little.
His gaze dropped to my hands. My shoulders. My mouth. He stopped himself like it physically hurt.
"You think I don't want to touch you?" he asked quietly.
My breath caught.
"I think," I said carefully, "that you're afraid of what happens if you do."
His eyes darkened. "I'm afraid of what happens if I don't."
The Veil stirred.
Not violently.
Curious.
I stood before I could talk myself out of it. One step. Then another.
He didn't move away.
Didn't move closer either.
We stood there, close enough that I could feel his warmth, his steady breathing, the tension humming between us like a live wire.
"I'm tired of being careful," I whispered.
His voice was rough. "Careful is the only thing keeping you alive."
"I'm alive," I said. "But I'm alone even when you're standing right here."
That did it.
His hand came up—slow, deliberate—and hovered near my arm. Not touching. Waiting.
"Tell me to stop," he said.
I didn't.
The contact was light at first. Just his fingers brushing my sleeve. A test. The Veil reacted instantly—air tightening, pressure building like the world leaning in.
Santiago stilled.
"You feel that," he murmured.
"Yes."
He should've pulled away.
Instead, he stepped closer.
His forehead rested against mine, breath warm, grounding.
"This is a bad idea," he whispered.
"I know."
He didn't kiss me.
That was the cruelest part.
His hand slid to my wrist, thumb pressing gently against my pulse, like he needed proof I was real.
The Veil pulsed once.
Annoyed.
Santiago swore softly and forced himself back, breaking the contact like it cost him something vital.
"We can't," he said, turning away. "Not like this. Not yet."
I nodded, throat tight. "Then don't leave."
He hesitated—then lay down on the floor beside the bed, back against the wood, close enough that I could hear him breathe.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "I just… won't cross that line."
Not tonight.
The cabin creaked as the forest settled around us.
I stared at the ceiling, heart aching, aware of every inch of space between us—and how fragile it felt.
Outside, the Veil waited.
Inside, neither of us slept.
***