Page 120 of Espíritu

“No!” Julian lunged.

The green at Angel’s sternum blazed, the cenote answering with a violent pulse. Angel shoved.

Luca’s shout cut short as his heels skidded on wet stone and he tipped backward into blue.

The cenote exploded with light. The glyphs carved into the stones flared to life, jaguar heads snarling in fire-bright blue, veined through with venom green. The air pulsed with supernatural force as the water roared, waves thrashing violently against the stone walls.

“Luca!” Julian shouted. For a split second, he saw his friend beneath the surface, eyes blown wide, mouth opening in a burst of silver bubbles—

“Julian!” Yadriel’s warning pierced the air, like he knew what Julian was going to do before he even did, but it was too late.

Julian dove into the cenote.

NINETEENJULIAN

Water enveloped Julian, icy tendrils clawing at his skin as he plunged into the unknown, leaving behind the flickering candlelight—and Yadriel’s shout.

His breath seized in his chest. His hands, numb and clumsy, sliced through the liquid darkness, searching, searching, searching. Panic stabbed through him as strange lights and blurry shapes darted past—none of them Luca.

He wouldn’t let Bahlam take Luca.

The thought rang in his skull like a silent scream. Bubbles streamed from his mouth. His limbs burned, leaden and uncooperative, but he kept going. All around him came the sound of voices—wailing, whispering, clawing at his mind with desperate cries.

Help us. Save us.

The voices chilled him to the bone. They sounded like his nightmares—too familiar, too real. Hundreds of unseen spirits seemed to reach for him, clinging with invisible hands. But he couldn’t think about them now. Not when Luca was down there.

The weight of his clothes dragged him down, each movement sluggish and frantic. His heart pounded with the raw, animal urge to fight.

Then—a jolt. Something brushed his fingertips, and Julian grabbed for it. His heart kicked against his ribs as his hand closed around an arm—small, soaked, familiar. He felt the ridges of a worn sweater, the callouses on small fingers from hours of skating—

Luca.

Relief was a luxury Julian couldn’t afford. The water dragged at him with its unrelenting pull. Disoriented, he clung to Luca, his grip fierce and unyielding, unsure which way led to the surface.

Air, air, air, his mind screamed. His muscles spasmed, his chest burned, and still, he held on, his determination outlasting his body’s cries.

Then—a violent jerk on his leg.

Julian thrashed. Terror tore through him. He was sure Bahlam had him—until the force yanked him up instead of down.

Yadriel.

Realization hit as he felt Yadriel’s strong, unwavering grip. His panic subsided just enough for him to tighten his hold on Luca. Together, they surged through the water, Yadriel’s steady pull from above guiding them toward the surface.

They broke through with a crash. Air knifed into Julian’s lungs as hands hauled at him, one iron grip at his forearm, another hooking the back of Luca’s hoodie. Yadriel dragged them toward the ledge while Maritza leaned out flat on her stomach, bracing her boots and heaving Luca up by the shoulders.

Julian didn’t let go. Even when elbows hit stone and cold air burned his throat, his arms stayed locked around Luca’s ribs.

They spilled onto the floor in a coughing heap. Water streamed off all three of them, splattering on the cracked stone.

“Luca?” Julian rasped, nose pressed to Luca’s wet hair, his voice raw and frantic. “I got you, I got you, I got you—”

“He’s okay,” Yadriel panted, collapsing beside them, one hand still on Julian’s forearm.

Luca hacked hard, water bubbling from his mouth. Maritza rolled him onto his side and rubbed firm circles between his shoulder blades.

“Eso, eso—let it out,” she said, pushing wet waves from his forehead.