The forest didn't feel real after he was gone.
The air hung too still, like the world was holding its breath. No wind. No insects. Just the echo of the fracture closing in on itself, the Veil smoothing over the wound it had made.
Ruth was still holding onto me.
Her fingers dug into my jacket like I might disappear next if she let go.
"It's done," she whispered. "It has to be."
I didn't answer.
Because somewhere deep in my chest, I could still feel him.
Not his body. Not his voice.
The space he used to occupy.
"I need to get you home," I said finally. My voice sounded wrong—flat, distant, like it belonged to someone else.
Ruth nodded numbly.
We walked out of the forest together, but it felt like I crossed the threshold alone.
That night, I didn't sleep.
I sat on the edge of my bed, lights on, curtains open, every sense stretched tight. Santiago's warning echoed over and over in my head.
You cannot dream tonight.
My body didn't care.
Exhaustion pressed down on me like hands on my shoulders. Every time my eyes drifted closed, the Veil stirred—just a little. Enough to remind me it was there. Waiting.
I stood instead.
Paced.
Drank water I didn't need.
The mirror caught my attention as I passed it.
For a second, I didn't recognize myself.
My eyes looked darker. Not tired—hollow. Like something had reached inside and rearranged me.
"You're still here," I whispered to my reflection. "You're awake."
The Veil pulsed in response.
Not angrily.
Curiously.
I flinched away from the mirror.
By morning, the city felt different.
Not broken. Not ruined.
Just… thinner.
People moved through the streets unaware, but I could feel the gaps between them. Places where the Veil brushed too close. Corners that felt wrong if I looked at them too long.
Santiago used to notice these things first.
Now I did.
That realization settled cold and heavy in my stomach.
This is what he was shielding me from.
A whisper slid through my thoughts as I passed an alleyway.
Not words.
A pressure.
A pull.
I kept walking.
"Not yet," I muttered. "You don't get me yet."
The pull faded, amused.
I understood then: the Veil wasn't chasing me.
It was waiting for me to slip.
That evening, Ruth texted.
Are you okay?
I stared at the screen for a long time before replying.
I'm here.
The lie tasted bitter.
I set my phone face-down and leaned back against the wall, knees pulled to my chest.
The room felt too quiet without Santiago's presence hovering just beyond my awareness. Too exposed. Like standing at the edge of a cliff with no one to pull you back.
"I won't dream," I said out loud. "I won't."
The Veil stirred again.
Closer this time.
Not threatening.
Expectant.
I hugged my knees tighter and focused on breathing. In. Out. Stay awake. Stay here.
But as night crept in and exhaustion dragged at my thoughts, one truth settled in with terrifying clarity:
The rules still applied.
I was just the one who had to enforce them now.
And the Veil knew it.
Somewhere beyond my waking mind, something shifted—slow, deliberate, patient.
Pedro had been a door.
Santiago had been a barrier.
And I was standing right in between, wide awake, trying not to fall asleep.