Page 44 of Espíritu

Julian didn’t know what he was getting himself into, but he couldn’t walk away now.

Not when he could help Luca.

Not when there was a chance to understand the darkness that had taken root inside him.

EIGHTJULIAN

The next morning, Julian jolted upright in bed, heart hammering as if he’d been running. His sheets were tangled around his legs, damp with sweat. For a second, he couldn’t breathe—shadows clawed at the corners of his vision, too dark, too heavy, like they were watching him sleep.

He blinked until the room came back into focus. The old box fan spinning, the pale gray of early morning leaking through the blinds, Rio’s bed empty and made. But the chill clung to him. And that feeling—that wrongness—hadn’t left.

He needed to talk to Yadriel. Now. Preferably ten minutes ago. To tell him what Angel said about the Marca Hueca, Luca, and whatever the hell was happening to him.

In the living room, Julian’s brain was so out of it, he tripped over someone’s shoe and crashed into the kitchen table hard enough to make it wobble like a shopping cart someone had jacked from Food 4 Less.

“Shit,” Julian hissed, hoping he hadn’t bothered anyone dozing.

Angel sat up on the floor propped against the wall, her dark layers blending into the shadowy corner. She yawned, but her catlike eyes were sharp as ever. “You always start the day with full panic energy or is this a limited-time vibe?”

He cast a quick glance around the room to make sure Omar, Flaca, Rocky, and Luca were still asleep. “Only when I’m running on four hours of sleep and a healthy dose of soul-related trauma,” he tried to joke.

Angel tilted her head. “You good?”

Not nosy. Not suspicious. Just checking.

“Aside from everything?” Julian forced a laugh and shook his head, avoiding her gaze. “Yeah, sorry. Just … I didn’t sleep great.” Julian tried to play it off, but his thoughts kept looping—the mark on Luca, the voice in the dark, Angel’s words echoing in his head.

Just thinking about it made his skin crawl. He grabbed a half-empty Sprite from the counter and took a swig like it might fix his life.

“We should get going soon,” he said louder to the room.

Rocky and Luca stirred, yawning and groaning as they prepared for another day of school. Flaca remained motionless, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of deep sleep, exhaustion from her new job keeping her tethered to dreams.

Omar’s spot on the couch lay empty. After Julian decided to clean up his act and start trying at school again, Omar rejoined the soccer team to “keep himself focused,” but Julian knew that meant “to keep out of trouble.”

Julian divided a brown, spotty banana into four bowls and dumped dry cereal on top. The milk jug was nearly empty—definitely not enough for four bowls. Digging around, he located a nearly finished carton way in the back. He checked the expiration date.

November 13.

It was hella expired, but November 13 was his birthday. Julian loved when things expired on his birthday—it felt like good luck, and right now he could really use it.

He dumped the clumpy milk into the sink.

“Out of milk?” Rocky asked groggily, rubbing her eyes as she shuffled into the kitchen.

“Enough for you three,” Julian said, splitting the last of the non-spoiled milk between bowls for Rocky, Luca, and Angel. “Eh, kinda,” he added.

“Thanks,” Rocky said, diving right in.

“You sure?” Luca asked, clutching his spoon as he looked up at Julian.

“Definitely!” Julian assured him, contemplating his own breakfast fate.

Cereal and orange juice? Why not? It was like breakfast with a side of rebellion. He doused his banana-laden bowl with a generous splash, the tangy aroma rising to greet him.

Angel leaned against the counter, bowl in hand. “Interesting choice,” she remarked at Julian’s experimental breakfast.

“I call it ‘culinary innovation’!” Julian said.