Page 119 of Espíritu

They’d been given.

Maritza’s breath ripped out of her. “All those spirits—our friends and family—” Her voice broke. “You fed them to Bahlam?!”

A faint hitch went through Angel’s shoulders. For a heartbeat the green at the edge of their mark thinned, then the cenote surged, and it brightened again, harsher. Memory and cenote pulled in the same direction—and Luca was still caught between them, the water tugging at his sneakers, at his breath.

Julian’s pulse kicked hard. Every second they hesitated, Luca slipped closer to the edge.

He saw Yadriel’s knuckles whiten on the portaje.

“Angel,” Yadriel said, urgency cutting clean through the word, eyes wide and pleading. “Listen to me. When I called to Lady Death, I asked her to do her work—guide the lost on, mend a tear in the veil, keep the balance. You’re asking her to unmake death. That isn’t her work. That’s breaking the world.”

Julian swallowed and found Angel’s eyes. “That doesn’t mean she’s forsaken you,” he said, voice rough but steady. “It means Bahlam is lying about what she refuses to do.” He lifted his empty hands a little higher. “Don’t let him use you like this.”

Luca gave the smallest nod, his toes inching away from the lip like he could will himself back to safety.

A pressure rolled up from the water, tilting the air. It was the same wordless push Julian had felt before, shaping itself into a single awful idea.

Trade.

Angel’s gaze flicked to the cenote, then to Julian, then down to Luca. The boy stood too straight, scared in that way that tries to be brave.

“Angel, stop,” Julian said, his voice low and intense. “You know he’s lying. You have to know.”

“I can’t give up on them.” Angel’s voice trembled. “What if this time it works?”

“It won’t,” Yadriel said firmly. “This isn’t salvation. It’s damnation. And he’ll use you to break through.”

“I need this to work!” Angel shouted, angry tears welling in their eyes.

Julian stepped closer, carefully. “Look at Luca. Look at what you’re doing to him.”

Angel glanced down—saw Luca’s scared, tear-streaked face—and faltered.

“I know you want your family back,” Julian said. “But think about what you’re doing to mine.”

Silence pressed in. Then Angel choked out, “I never wanted to hurt him.”

“Then don’t,” Maritza said sharply.

“You can still stop this,” Yadriel added. “Bahlam doesn’t have to win.”

For a long, aching moment, it looked like Angel might break. Their hand loosened around the dagger. Their shoulders slumped. But then the cenote’s water surged again. Angel turned to it, the venom-green light dancing, reflecting in their eyes as their gaze unfocused. Julian heard the low growl, the hum of whispers.

“Look at me,” Julian said quickly. “Not the water.” He stepped closer still, voice hoarse with hope. “We can figure this out, Angel. We can help you.”

For a breath it held. Angel’s gaze locked on Julian, the green at their mark thinning to a thread. Then the cenote surged. A whisper pressed up through the stone, and Angel flinched like it had touched a bruise.

Their eyes slid off Julian’s face and caught on the braid at Luca’s wrist. Recognition flickered. Not just comfort, an anchor. Angel’s lip trembled. The green at their sternum flared, bright and drowning. They couldn’t look at Luca’s face, so they chose the knot.

Angel’s shoulders went very still—the kind of still that comes right before someone does what they know is wrong.

“No,” they murmured, almost to themself. “It’s too late.”

“Angel,” Julian tried to warn.

The dagger twitched—Luca flinched—but Angel’s free hand moved faster. They yanked his sleeve up and ripped the bracelet free. The small braid snapped with a soft, ugly sound.

Luca gasped, his small wrist bare.