The city smelled of wet asphalt and smoke, the streets slick from a rain that had stopped hours ago.
Shadows clung to corners, stretching longer than they should, and every stray sound made me flinch.
Santiago stayed close enough. His presence was a tether, and yet, every step he took felt like a measure—careful, deliberate.
I wanted to reach for him, to erase the distance, but I remembered the pull, the tether, and the Veil's warning.
"I can't believe it," I whispered, voice low, almost afraid to speak. "You're… really back."
"I am," he said quietly. "For now. But we need to move carefully."
I swallowed, the weight of it pressing down. Pedro.
The shadow of him still lingered in my mind—the inhuman shape, the hissing, the teeth. Whatever force had twisted him, it hadn't acted alone.
And now, the Veil itself seemed unstable, like a mirror cracked but still holding its reflection.
Santiago crouched beside me, lowering his voice. "I've felt it too. Whoever engineered Pedro… they're watching, waiting for an opening. The Veil bending was a warning. If we make a wrong move, it will strike harder next time."
I clenched my fists, trying to steady the fear coiling in my chest. "So what do we do? Just… wait?"
"No," he said sharply. "We learn. We prepare. And we separate when we have to."
"Separate?" My stomach flipped. "You're… not going to leave me, are you?"
He met my gaze, gold eyes softening for a fraction, then hardening again. "I'm here, but I can't… I won't risk both of us at the same time. If the Veil comes for me while you're close, it will use you."
I looked away, frustration mixing with fear. "So I'm supposed to just… stand here while you fight shadows?"
"You stand," he said, voice low, "and you survive. That's your part."
I wanted to argue, to scream, to refuse—but a shiver ran through me, like the city itself had inhaled sharply.
Something moved in the alley ahead, barely visible, a ripple in the air.
"Pedro," I whispered.
Santiago tensed, body angled toward me, not touching, not letting me step closer. "He's not alone," he said. "And he's not just hunting. He's being guided. Someone or something is pulling the strings. If we don't act… more will follow."
The shadows deepened, and for the first time, I understood: the Veil wasn't just a boundary anymore. It was a player. And we were pieces on its board.
"Then we act," I said, feeling a surge of determination. "We don't wait."
He studied me, expression unreadable, then nodded once. "Careful," he warned. "Every move has a cost. And the Veil… it remembers everything."
The night pressed closer, silent but full of unseen eyes. I could feel it—the whisper of threads, the pull of unseen hands.
And somewhere in the shadows, Pedro waited, tied to me in ways I didn't yet understand.
Santiago stepped back slightly, keeping the distance. "We move," he said. "Step by step. No rash moves. And remember… I'm always here. Just…"
"Not too close. I know." I said and his jaw clenched.
The tension coiling in my shoulders. I was terrified—but more alive than I had been since the Veil took him.
And for the first time, I realized: surviving him was only the beginning.