Neptune squares the axis from the South Node side, the worn groove you dream from, so the inherited drift scrapes crosswise against the turn even under the haze, and the strain keeps returning as a step you dissolve rather than take. You slip into the old fog by reflex, reaching for the familiar blur instead of staying awake to the thing you avoid. That is not a defect. The friction is building something that holds shape in the mist. Familiar vision was never going to carry this turn. The advance steadies the day you quit fogging over the known retreat and keep your eyes open.