Page 88 of Espíritu

Julian hesitated. “No,” he admitted. “But I think I’m the only option. Where the hell did you even come from?” he added, suddenly turning to Maritza.

She shrugged, nonchalant, and jerked her chin to the beige truck idling by the shop. “Tío Enrique got busy with cemetery duty. I’m the getaway car.”

Yadriel’s expression darkened slightly. Probably thinking about the spirits Lita couldn’t reach. He stared off down the street where Angel had disappeared.

“We should head out,” Yadriel murmured, dragging his gaze back to Maritza and Julian.

He turned to Julian, offering a faint smile. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Julian said, stealing a quick kiss. “Text me when you get home.”

“I will.” Yadriel squeezed him into a hug, tight and grounded, before climbing into the truck, disappearing into the passenger seat while Maritza got into the driver’s.

She rolled down the window as they pulled away. “Try to stay out of trouble, Jules!”

Julian gave a tired, half-hearted smile. “No promises!”

The taillights faded into the dark, leaving Julian standing alone in the empty lot.

For a long moment, he just stood there, staring into the night. His thoughts churned.

Angel had cracked open—not just from rage but also from grief. And now Julian couldn’t stop wondering who she’d lost. Or what she was willing to do to get them back.

He knew that feeling—how loss could hollow you out until all that was left was wanting. Angel had lost someone, and her fury wasn’t about power. It was about pain. About wanting the world to make sense again, no matter the cost. And as much as he hated to admit it, part of him understood. If it meant seeing his dad again—if it meant undoing everything that hurt—he didn’t know what he’d refuse.

He’d been so caught up in defending Yadriel that he hadn’t realized how badly he’d hurt Angel just by existing—by being the proof of what she’d lost. The miracle she couldn’t have. And the guilt of that sank deep, heavy as the night around him.

He wasn’t a miracle. Just a boy of borrowed breath.

Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow, I’ll fix it.

The apartment door creaked open, and Julian stepped inside, the lingering chill of the night still clinging to his skin. The warmth inside hit him like a wave—not just the heat, but the noise.

Flaca and Rocky were arguing down the hall, probably over the bathroom again. The smell of spaghetti and garlic still hung thick in the air, sharp and slightly burnt.

Omar was sprawled out on the couch, his socked feet propped up on the makeshift coffee table, one arm slung lazily over his stomach. The dull murmur of a late-night anime played in the background, punctuated by dramatic sword clashes and yelling characters.

His head turned lazily as Julian entered, one brow already raised.

Next to him, Luca was mostly buried under a mountain of pillows and a lumpy quilt. Only his eyes were visible—wide and sharp, tracking Julian the moment he stepped inside.

Julian gave a casual wave, trying to slide back into the space like nothing had happened. “Hey,” he said, kicking off his shoes.

“Hey,” Omar grunted back, his tone flat but his posture relaxed when Julian sank into the seat beside him.

Julian couldn’t ignore Luca, though, not when the kid was still watching him with those unblinking eyes. Luca’s fingers worked absentmindedly at the woven bracelet on his wrist—the one Julian had made him out of scraps of his blankie. Luca had been wearing it religiously, twisting it when he was anxious or deep in thought.

Right now, he was both.

“You good?” Omar asked, suspicion cutting through the sleepy gruffness of his tone.

“Yeah. Long day,” Julian replied quickly, his voice a shade too tight. He waved a hand like it was no big deal, but Omar didn’t seem convinced.

Luca’s quiet gaze stayed on Julian.

Omar snorted. “You look like hell.”

Julian flashed a tight smile. “Thanks.” He changed his mind and stood up, heading for the bedroom. He could feel Omar’s disappointment.