Page 62 of Espíritu

Julian slid into the seat across from her. “You thought I’d flake on diner coffee?” he said, leaning back as if he weren’t vibrating with nerves. He kept it casual. Kept it funny. If he pretended he was fine long enough, maybe he would be.

Angel raised an eyebrow, grinning. “You’re twitchy.”

“Thanks,” Julian replied, resting both forearms on the sticky table. His fingers started drumming. Nothing said “mentally stable” like Morse-coding your panic into laminate.

Her smirk deepened. “Good. Keeps you sharp.”

Angel leaned forward. The movement was small, but her gaze sharpened—like she’d just flipped a switch. “You ready?”

His first instinct was to joke, to deflect—but the look in her eyes made it impossible. He was here for Luca’s sake, so he wouldn’t back out.

Julian nodded. “Just tell me what to do.”

Angel straightened a little. “You keep saying you hear things—caves, whispers, shadows. Don’t fight it tonight. Try opening. See if anything answers.”

Julian nodded, but Angel just kept staring at him.

He blinked. “What, like, right now? Here?” he said, glancing around at the very full diner.

Angel arched an eyebrow. “Just trust me.”

Julian did. He turned his head slowly, trying to let his eyes relax. Booths. Greasy menus. The same tired server topping off mugs. A man in a puffy jacket snoring into his pancakes. A couple holding hands but not talking. A teenager scrolling through TikTok with dead eyes.

Just people.

And then … not just people.

The shadows deepened at the edges of his vision. At first he thought it was the dim lighting, but then—there they were. Like oil slicks spreading across shirts and jackets. Faint and flickering at first, but as he looked harder, they thickened into shapes. Writhing black masses clung to the chests of nearly everyone in the room, pulsing like second hearts made of smoke.

Julian’s spine stiffened. “Holy shit.”

Angel took a sip of her coffee, unfazed. “Yeah. Denny’s is a great place for spotting emotional decay.”

Julian’s gaze swept the room. The waitress had a ragged black blotch stretching across her chest. The arguing couple both had tendrils curling from their sternums. Even the old man by the jukebox—just sitting there, still—had something heavy and flickering hanging from his heart.

“They’re everywhere,” Julian murmured, his voice catching. “How did I not see this before?”

“You weren’t tuned in,” Angel said. Her voice was calm, almost clinical. “People think sadness is invisible. It’s not. You just need the right kind of eyes.”

Julian swallowed the lump in his throat. “This is what you see? Every day?”

Angel gave a small shrug. “Most days. Holiday season makes it worse. All that pressure to feel joy—it cracks people open. These things thrive in the cracks.”

He looked back at the shadows. It made his chest ache.

“Okay,” he said, shifting slightly in his seat. “So what now?”

“Now you listen. Not with your ears. With this.” She reached out and tapped two fingers against the center of his chest. The gesture was light but startling.

Julian flinched but nodded. He closed his eyes.

The diner’s clatter and hum blurred into a low haze. He focused on his breath, on the pressure of the tabletop beneath his palms. The air had a bite to it, a chemical chill under the fried smells. A draft whispered against his ankles every time the door opened.

And then—there. A prickle.

“I feel … something,” Julian murmured.

“Stay with it,” Angel said, softer. “If it’s the same thing that’s been after you, you’ll feel it pull.”