Morning came without mercy.
Grey light seeped through the trees, cold and unforgiving, illuminating the damage the night had left behind.
Broken branches. Trampled earth. A dark stain in the leaves I refused to look at too closely.
I sat on a fallen log, knees pulled to my chest, staring at my hands.
They wouldn't stop shaking.
Santiago moved quietly nearby, erasing signs of the fight with practiced efficiency.
Every so often, he glanced at me—not like I was fragile, but like I was dangerous and hurting at the same time.
That was worse.
"I didn't mean to," I said finally.
He stopped.
"I know."
"I felt it happen," I continued, my voice cracking. "Like something inside me decided before I did."
He came closer, crouching in front of me, keeping his distance. "That's what the Veil does. It amplifies instinct. Fear. Desire."
"So I'm just an amplifier?" I snapped. "A weapon?"
"No," he said firmly. "You're a person who hasn't been taught control."
I laughed weakly. "That's comforting."
His mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed serious. "Last night was your first conscious kill. The Veil marked you for it."
My stomach dropped. "Marked me how?"
He hesitated.
"Santiago."
"They'll feel you now," he admitted. "Creatures. Hunters. Things that don't even have names anymore."
I hugged myself tighter. "Then I shouldn't be near anyone."
"That's not your decision to make for them," he said gently. "And it's not mine to force."
Silence stretched between us.
I looked up at him. "Did it scare you?"
He didn't pretend not to understand. "Yes."
My heart sank.
"But not for the reason you think," he added. "I'm scared of how much you'll blame yourself."
Something in my chest cracked.
"I don't want to be this," I whispered.
He reached out, slow, giving me time to pull away. When I didn't, his hand settled over mine.
"Then we teach you," he said. "We set rules. We build walls inside your mind stronger than the Veil."
"And if that doesn't work?"
His thumb brushed my knuckles, grounding, real. "Then I stay anyway."
I met his eyes.
Not gold now. Not feral.
Just human.
And for the first time since the nightmare began, I believed I might survive it—not because I was powerful, but because I wasn't alone.
The Veil stirred softly around us.
Listening.
***
By the time we moved again, the forest had gone quiet in a way that felt deliberate.
We walked for hours, putting distance between us and the place where everything had gone wrong. I kept my eyes on the ground, afraid of what I might see if I looked too closely at the trees.
"Tell me the rules," I said finally.
Santiago slowed. "What?"
"The rules," I repeated. "You said we'd make them."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "All right."
Rule one," he said, "you don't sleep without me nearby."
Heat crept up my neck. "That's not a rule. That's—"
"Necessary," he interrupted. "Your power moves easiest through dreams. If something starts to slip, I need to pull you back."
I swallowed and nodded.
"Rule two," he continued. "You don't use it unless there's no other choice."
"Even if someone deserves it?"
"Especially then."
That answer sat heavy in my chest.
"Rule three," he said more quietly, "you don't face the Veil alone."
I stopped walking. "I already did."
"And you nearly broke because of it," he replied. "We don't do that again."
I forced myself to keep moving.
"What happens if I break a rule?" I asked.
He didn't answer right away.
"Then I intervene," he said finally. "Even if you hate me for it."
I looked at him sharply. "You'd stop me?"
"I'd stop the Veil from taking you," he said. "There's a difference."
We reached a narrow clearing just as dusk began to fall. Santiago started setting wards—simple, quiet movements that made the air feel heavier, safer.
I watched him for a moment. "Why me?"
His hands stilled.
"Because you can touch the Veil without being consumed by it," he said. "Because your dreams don't just cross the line—they change it."
My chest tightened. "That doesn't sound like a gift."
"It isn't," he said. "It's a responsibility."
Night settled around us.
When I lay down, exhaustion dragged at me, thick and relentless.
Santiago sat with his back against a tree, close enough that I could feel his presence even with my eyes closed.
"Santiago?"
"Yes."
"If I lose control again…" My voice shook. "If I hurt someone—"
"You won't," he said.
"You don't know that."
He leaned down, resting his forehead against mine. "I know you. And I won't let you face it alone."
Sleep crept in despite my fear.
This time, my dreams stayed quiet.
But somewhere beyond the trees, the Veil shifted—adjusting, learning, waiting.
And I knew the rules were only the beginning.