Morning didn't arrive all at once.
It crept in—thin light sliding between rocks, fog lifting in slow strands, the forest waking without ceremony. Birds called once, then went quiet again, like they'd remembered where they were.
I woke before Santiago spoke, already aware of him.
He stood a few meters away, back to me, scanning the slope below.
Same posture. Same distance. But something in him had shifted—coiled tighter, more deliberate.
Like the night had given him answers he hadn't shared yet.
"How long was I out?" I asked.
"Two hours. Maybe three," he said. "You didn't dream."
That snapped me fully awake. I sat up. "You checked."
"I watched," he corrected. "There's a difference."
I rubbed my hands together, grounding myself.
He was right—I felt clear. No residue. No echo of the Veil brushing my thoughts like static.
"That's new," I said quietly.
"Yes," he replied. "And I don't like surprises."
He finally turned, eyes catching the early light.
Gold, but steadier than they'd been last night.
"We don't go back yet," he said before I could suggest it. "First, we test up here."
I frowned. "How?"
"By lying to it."
That made my pulse jump.
He stepped closer—not close-close, but enough that his presence anchored the space. "The Veil responds to patterns. Emotional ones especially. If it thinks we're predictable, it relaxes. If it thinks it's winning, it overextends."
"And you want it comfortable," I said slowly.
"I want it careless."
I studied him. "You've done this before."
His jaw tightened. "Once."
"And?"
"I survived," he said. "Barely."
That wasn't reassuring—but it was honest.
He crouched and drew a line in the dirt with a stick. Two marks. A space between.
"This is us," he said. "This is distance it expects. We maintain it. We behave exactly how it wants us to behave."
"Guarded," I said.
"Controlled," he corrected. "Detached."
I let out a soft, humorless laugh. "You realize it already knows that's a lie."
"Yes," he said calmly. "But it doesn't know how we're lying."
I sat across from him, mirroring his posture. The air between us felt charged—but contained. Like a held breath.
"And while we're doing this," I asked, "what are we really measuring?"
His gaze sharpened. "Latency."
I tilted my head. "Between what and what?"
"Between intent and response," he said. "Last night, it reacted almost immediately. Curiosity phase. That means it's close to escalation."
A chill ran through me. "So the window is shrinking."
"Yes."
"But it's still there," I said.
"For now."
We fell quiet again—not empty silence. Working silence. The kind where thoughts lined up instead of spiraling.
I focused inward, deliberately dulling the pull I felt toward him. Not suppressing—containing.
Like closing a fist without crushing what was inside.
The Veil stirred.
Late.
Santiago noticed immediately. His eyes flicked to the trees, then back to me.
"Good," he murmured. "That's delay."
A strange satisfaction bloomed in my chest. "So it's not just distance. It's discipline."
"And intention," he said. "You're not reaching."
I met his gaze evenly. "Neither are you."
Something passed between us then—not desire exactly. Recognition.
"That's dangerous," he said softly.
"Yes," I agreed. "But it's also power."
He held my eyes for a long moment. Then, decisively, he stood.
"Alright," he said. "Now we go back."
My breath caught. "I thought—"
"Conditions changed," he said. "It's slower. Distracted. Dawn helps."
"And the rules?"
"Still stand," he said. "Four minutes. No contact. You go alone."
I rose, heart pounding—not fear. Anticipation.
"And if something goes wrong?" I asked.
His expression hardened—not cruel. Protective in a way that didn't smother.
"Then I break every rule," he said. "Including my own."
That shouldn't have comforted me.
It did.
We moved back toward the cabin, careful, quiet. The forest watched us go—but didn't interfere.
At the threshold, Santiago stopped.
He didn't touch me. Didn't lean in.
But his voice dropped, steady and low.
"You come back when I call you," he said. "Not before. Not after. You feel anything shift—you abort."
I nodded. "I trust you."
That made him inhale sharply—just once.
"I know," he said. "That's why this matters."
I lifted the loose board. Cold air rose to meet me.
The Veil pressed faintly—confused now. Uncertain.
Good.
I descended into the dark.
Behind me, Santiago stayed above.
Watching.
Holding the line.
And somewhere in the space between us, something ancient hesitated—realizing, too late, that we weren't just reacting anymore.
We were learning how to move first.