Ruth found us at dawn.
I knew it was her before I saw her—before Santiago stiffened, before the wards along the clearing shuddered and dissolved like mist under sunlight.
"Eliza."
Her voice cut straight through me.
I sat up too fast, my head spinning.
Santiago was already on his feet, body angled slightly in front of me—not blocking her, but not trusting the space either.
Ruth stood at the edge of the trees, arms wrapped around herself. Her eyes were red. Not from crying—no, this was the hollow aftermath.
The kind grief leaves behind when it's done tearing through you.
"You disappeared," she said.
My stomach twisted.
"Santiago," I whispered. "Please."
He hesitated, then stepped back, giving me the choice.
I stood. My legs shook.
"I didn't know how to tell you," I said. "About Pedro. About what he was."
Her laugh was sharp and broken. "What he was?" She took a step closer. "They said he vanished, Eliza. Just—gone. And you were there the last night anyone saw him."
The Veil stirred.
Not distant. Not quiet.
Too close.
"I tried to warn you," I said. "I didn't have proof. I didn't even trust my own mind."
Ruth's gaze flicked to Santiago. "And him?"
"He saved my life," I said immediately.
Santiago inclined his head. "Pedro wasn't human."
Silence crashed down between us.
Ruth stared at him, waiting for the joke. When none came, something in her expression cracked.
"You loved him," I said softly. "I know. And I'm sorry."
Her hands curled into fists. "No," she said. "You're lying."
The Veil pulsed—hard.
Pain flared behind my eyes.
Santiago swore under his breath. "Eliza—"
"I didn't mean to," I gasped. "It's not—"
The forest warped.
Rule one: don't sleep alone.Rule two: don't use it unless there's no other choice.Rule three: don't face the Veil alone.
The Veil didn't care.
Ruth cried out as something brushed past her—cold, whispering, hungry. The truth ripped free of me before I could stop it.
"He was a snake-human," I said, voice not mine. "He wanted what I have. He was never going to leave you alive."
Ruth fell to her knees.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no—"
Santiago grabbed my shoulders. "Eliza. You're slipping."
"I didn't choose this!" I cried. "It's just—happening."
The Veil split the air between us.
A sound like glass breaking echoed through the clearing.
Santiago went still.
His eyes widened—not in fear, but recognition.
"They've found you," he said.
"Who?" I asked.
His jaw tightened. "The ones who trained me."
The ground shuddered.
Figures emerged from the distortion—tall, indistinct, wrapped in symbols that hurt to look at. Not hunters. Worse. Controlled. Purpose-built.
Ruth screamed.
Santiago moved instantly, pulling her back, shoving her toward the trees. "Run. Don't stop."
"What about you?" she cried.
He looked at me.
I already knew.
"No," I said, backing away. "You said you wouldn't leave."
"I said I'd stay," he replied softly. "I didn't say they'd let me."
The Veil wrapped around him like chains.
"Eliza," he said urgently, eyes burning gold. "Listen to me. You cannot dream tonight. Not for me. Not for anyone."
"I can't just—"
"You have to," he said. "If you reach for me through the Veil, they'll use you."
The forest tore open.
Hands seized him—dragging him backward into the fracture.
"Santiago!" I screamed.
His gaze never left mine.
"Remember the rules," he said. "Even when the Veil doesn't."
And then he was gone.
The clearing collapsed into silence.
Ruth clutched me, shaking. I didn't remember falling to my knees—but I was there, gasping, heart breaking open in my chest.
The Veil pulsed once more.
Satisfied.
I knew, with terrifying certainty:
The rules had never been meant to protect me.
They were meant to prepare me.