Page 157 of Espíritu

“Muéstrame el enlace,” he said, calling on his portaje to reveal the threads that bound the spirits to the objects in Angel’s hands.

Nothing happened.

Enrique’s dagger pulsed faintly but gave no tether. No echo. No trace.

He frowned, eyes narrowing as he tried again—slower, more focused.

Still nothing.

Enrique looked up slowly, confusion giving way to dawning realization. Then his face changed—softened into something equal parts relief and grief.

“They’re not here,” he said quietly.

Angel’s shoulders stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“They were never in Xibalba,” Enrique told her, his voice steady but reverent. “Their spirits … they’ve already crossed over. When they died, they passed peacefully.”

Angel stared at him, blinking rapidly. “But Bahlam said—”

“He lied,” Enrique said, gently but firmly. He placed a hand on their shoulder. “He wanted you isolated. He wanted your grief to stay raw. That’s how he kept his hold on you.”

Julian felt his chest twist.

“If you had come to us,” Enrique continued, “we could’ve checked. We could’ve told you they were never lost. You didn’t have to carry it alone.”

Angel’s mouth opened, then closed again. Her eyes flooded—tears slipping free, no longer contained.

“They’re … safe?” she whispered, almost afraid to believe it.

“Yes,” Enrique said. “They’ve been with Lady Death this whole time.”

Angel made a soft, broken sound. Like the first crack in a frozen lake—not loud but deep. Her hands clutched the bundle of tethers as her legs gave out, and she dropped to her knees.

Julian’s breath caught.

It wasn’t the collapse of someone broken. It was the release of someone who’d been holding it all in for too long. Yadriel was already there at Julian’s shoulder, a steady palm between his shoulder blades, keeping him anchored.

This close, Julian could see just how hollowed out Angel looked. Like someone who had been unmade and hadn’t figured out how to put herself back together yet.

Julian knelt down beside her and tentatively rubbed her back, like Yadriel did when he was upset. Like his father used to.

Angel’s shoulders shook as they struggled to hold back tears. “I’m sorry,” they whispered. “For everything.”

Julian swallowed. The easy thing would be to stay angry. He could feel that choice like a door at his back, simple and heavy. He closed his hand tighter around Luca’s bracelet and turned toward the harder thing.

“Saving you was the right thing to do,” Julian said, honest and exhausted. “And I’m glad we did it.” He drew a slow breath, thumbs worrying Luca’s bracelet. “But you can’t stay here.”

Angel winced, then gave a small, jerky nod. Her eyes were rimmed red, her voice small.

“What happens now?” Angel whispered. “I don’t even know who I am without all of … this.”

“Maybe you figure it out somewhere new,” Julian said, gentler now. “You told me you have family in Mexico, right?”

Angel looked at him, startled. Then she dropped her gaze. “I do,” she said. “An aunt in Michoacán I haven’t seen in years. My two cousins. Their círculo.”

“Then start there,” Julian said.

Angel’s lips parted like she was about to argue. Then she stopped. Thought about it. Her grip on the rosaries tightened.