We didn't go far.
That was the first rule Santiago enforced without saying it out loud.
The forest thinned as we moved, trees giving way to rock and uneven ground, the cabin already fading behind us like a secret we weren't allowed to look back at too long.
The Veil pressed in again—not violently, not yet—but aware.
Like a hand resting just above the surface of water, waiting to feel movement.
Santiago stopped near a cluster of boulders slick with moss.
"We stay here," he said.
I nodded, lowering myself onto the cold stone.
My body still hummed from what we'd felt underground—lighter, clearer, like part of me was still down there, untouched.
He stayed standing.
Of course he did.
But this time, he didn't turn away.
His attention was sharp, focused outward, but his awareness brushed mine in small, deliberate ways—checking, grounding, anchoring.
Not the reckless pull from before. Something more controlled. Intentional.
"You're thinking too loud," he said.
I blinked. "You can feel that now?"
"I always could," he replied. Then, after a beat: "It's just easier when the Veil's agitated."
That should've unsettled me.
Instead, it felt… intimate.
I wrapped my arms around my knees. "Down there—it didn't react at all. No pressure. No pull. Nothing."
"Which means it doesn't reach," he said. "Or it doesn't see."
"Or both."
His jaw tightened. "There are places like that. Rare. Usually temporary."
"Temporary how?"
"Until the Veil learns," he said bluntly.
Silence settled again, heavier this time. Not awkward. Strategic.
I broke it. "We need to test it."
He looked at me sharply.
"Not recklessly," I added quickly. "Measured. Short intervals. One variable at a time."
That earned me a look—assessing, impressed despite himself.
"Go on," he said.
"We track time spent below," I continued. "Heart rate. Headaches. Dreams afterward. If it changes how the Veil behaves when we come back up."
"And proximity," he added.
I hesitated. "…Yes."
His eyes held mine, steady and unflinching. "Especially proximity."
Heat crept into my chest—not embarrassment.
Something stronger.
Pride, maybe.
That he was treating me like a partner, not something fragile to be managed.
"If the Veil senses emotional spikes," I said slowly, "then physical distance isn't the only trigger. Intent matters. Focus."
"Exactly," he said. "Which is why you don't get to drift."
I arched a brow. "You say that like you're not doing the same thing."
For a split second, his control slipped.
Not much.
Just enough for me to feel it.
He stepped closer—still not touching, but close enough that the air between us felt charged.
"I am holding the line," he said quietly. "Every second."
My voice softened. "I know."
That was all it took.
Something passed between us—not a thought, not a word. A shared awareness. The kind that didn't need language.
The Veil stirred.
Not angry.
Curious.
Santiago felt it too. His shoulders squared, instincts flaring, but he didn't retreat.
"See?" he murmured. "Even this. It notices."
I closed my eyes briefly, centering myself.
When I opened them, I met his gaze deliberately—not reaching, not pulling. Just there.
The pressure eased.
Santiago exhaled slowly. "Good," he said. "You're learning."
A strange thrill ran through me. "So are you."
That almost made him smile.
Almost.
"We'll go back down," he said. "Not tonight. Tomorrow, maybe. At dawn, when the Veil's attention shifts."
"And if it follows?"
"Then we stop," he said immediately. "No heroics. No sacrifices."
I tilted my head. "That sounded like a promise."
"It is," he said. Then, lower: "To both of us."
The night deepened around us. Somewhere far off, the city breathed—cars, lights, human noise, all of it oblivious to the rules bending just beneath its feet.
Santiago finally sat across from me, far enough to be safe. Close enough to matter.
"We don't tell anyone," he said. "Not Ruth. Not allies. Not yet."
"Because if the Veil knows others know—"
"It accelerates," he finished. "Exactly."
I stared at the dark outline of the trees. "It's strange. All this time, I thought it was hunting me."
"And now?" he asked.
I swallowed. "Now I think it's afraid of what we might find."
That did it.
Santiago leaned back slightly, studying me like I'd just confirmed something he'd suspected but hadn't wanted to believe.
"Careful," he said softly. "That kind of thinking changes things."
"I'm already changed," I replied. "So are you."
A long pause.
Then, quietly: "Yes."
The Veil pulsed again—once, deep and slow.
Not a threat.
A warning.
Santiago stood, extending a hand—not to pull me up. Just offered. Steady. Solid.
I took it.
Just for a second.
Then we let go.
And somehow, that restraint felt more dangerous than the kiss ever had.
Because now we knew—
There were places the Veil couldn't reach.
And sooner or later, it would come looking for them.