Page 68 of Espíritu

“Help,” Rio echoed, his scowl deepening. “And what happens when you need help, huh?”

Julian didn’t have an answer. The bravado that usually kicked in just … didn’t.

He opened the door and stepped out into the night. The cold hit him first, sharp against his sweat-damp skin. The metal handle bit into his palm as he let it swing shut behind him.

Rio stayed behind the wheel, face lost to shadow, hands clenched around the steering wheel.

Julian stood there for a long moment, the night pressing in on all sides. The porch light was out, but a warm flicker bled through the windows—laughter, something crashing, maybe Rocky yelling at Omar. The normal chaos of his people.

It didn’t feel like it belonged to him tonight.

He didn’t look back at Rio. Didn’t have to, to know he’d let him down.

ELEVENJULIAN

The Christmas lights in the living room flickered faintly as Julian pushed through the door.

“There you are,” Omar called from inside.

“Hey,” Julian called back, forcing a smile as he entered the living room where their makeshift family had gathered.

Luca was curled on the couch, swallowed by an oversize sweater, shadows under his eyes. Rocky sat on the floor with her controller, game paused. Flaca perched on the armrest beside Omar, blowing lightly on fresh plum nail polish.

“Where’ve you been, dude?” Luca asked. His voice was casual, but his eyes were wary. Julian noticed the slight tremble in his hands as he adjusted the blanket over his legs. That wasn’t normal.

Julian opened his mouth, but then Rio stepped in behind him, arms crossed like a locked gate.

“Out,” Julian answered, too quickly. His eyes flicked toward Rio without thinking.

Rocky raised an eyebrow. “We were kinda worried,” she said gently. “You weren’t answering.”

Omar let out a slow exhale and set his controller aside. “Yeah. You’ve been … hard to keep track of lately.” He wasn’t accusing—just stating the obvious.

Flaca glanced up from her nails. “We just want to know you’re okay,” she said. No edge, no bite. Just concern.

Julian flinched anyway. The guilt pressed on him like a hand over his sternum.

They weren’t angry—which, somehow, made everything worse. It meant they were trying. And he was still lying.

“I’m fine,” he said, but the words tasted thin.

Omar nodded once, lips pressed together. “Okay. Just … talk to us next time, yeah? Doesn’t have to be a whole thing.”

Rocky added under her breath, “We’re not trying to trap you, Jules.” She rubbed her shoulder, awkward, like she wasn’t sure if she should say more. “We just—miss you.”

Flaca murmured, “You’ve felt kinda far away.”

That one hit the deepest.

They were his people—his family—and he was drifting so far he could barely see the shore.

Julian’s throat tightened. He turned instinctively toward Luca—the only one here who knew even a sliver of the truth.

“I’m sorry I’ve been … weird,” Julian said quietly. “I’m not trying to shut you out. I just…” He trailed off. He couldn’t explain, not without breaking a dozen promises to Yadriel. But Luca wasn’t meeting his gaze. His eyes were fixed on the floor, unfocused, fingers curled tight around the edge of the blanket in his lap. A faint flush warmed his cheeks, like he might be running a fever.

And then Julian saw it.

The Marca Hueca.