Page 74 of Espíritu

She padded off, leaving Julian alone again.

But the silence didn’t feel empty anymore. It felt like something had followed him back into it.

Julian stood in the kitchen for a long moment after Flaca left, staring at the empty wall. His hands were still shaking.

Whatever he’d seen—or thought he saw—it hadn’t felt like a dream. It hadn’t felt like a memory, either. It had felt real. Too real. Like it had been waiting for him.

And the worst part? It had known his name.

Julian dragged himself back to the bedroom, heart still thudding dully in his ears. Rio was asleep, the covers rising and falling with each steady breath. Peaceful. Oblivious.

He dropped onto his mattress, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He didn’t even try to close them.

He thought about the Marca Hueca pulsing under Luca’s skin. How it was spreading.

Julian could barely breathe. He was supposed to be getting better. But everything was unraveling—inside him, around him. He felt like he was drowning in secrets, slipping further away from everyone who mattered.

And now this. The vision was burned into his brain. That thing—the shape, the glow, the pressure in the room—it wasn’t just a ghost. It wasn’t anything he’d seen before. Not a spirit, not a maligno. Something in between. Something worse.

He needed help.

Not from Rio. Not from Angel.

Julian’s breath hitched as he whispered the name like a prayer—“Yadriel.”

He didn’t know what answers Yadriel might have, but just seeing him, hearing his voice, would help. Would center him. Because right now, Julian felt like he was coming apart.

He moved slowly, carefully, slipping on his hoodie and sneakers. He left his phone plugged in by the wall, not wanting Rio to track him if he woke up. No way.

He slipped out the front door with painstaking care. The air outside was sharp and cold, biting through his sleeves. Streetlights buzzed faintly in the distance. East LA was quiet but not sleeping.

Julian started walking.

TWELVEJULIAN

Julian stood outside Yadriel’s house, the cool night air prickling his skin as he scanned the windows above him. He clutched a handful of small pebbles, weighing the absurdity of his plan. It was like he was in some old teen movie from the late 1900s.

He lobbed the first rock at the second-floor window. The soft clink barely registered, but Julian tried again, this time hitting the glass with just enough force to make the curtains stir. After a beat, the window squeaked open, revealing a very groggy, very confused Yadriel. His dark hair was tousled, falling messily over his forehead as he squinted down.

“Julian?” Yadriel’s voice was a husky whisper. “Why are you throwing rocks at my window in the middle of the night?”

“Let me in!” Julian called up, trying to sound casual, but the edge in his voice betrayed him.

Yadriel stared at him, visibly debating whether to scold him or simply let him freeze. With a sigh, he finally nodded and disappeared back inside. A few moments later, the front door creaked open. He stood there in pajama pants and an oversize hoodie, rubbing his eyes as Julian slipped inside.

“Breaking in, sneaking out—is this a relationship or a heist movie?” Yadriel muttered, still half asleep.

Julian snorted, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Bit of both.”

The joke landed awkwardly. Yadriel blinked again, this time more awake, and his eyes swept over Julian—the tension in his shoulders, the way he kept shifting like his skin didn’t fit. He reached out and brushed his fingers lightly along Julian’s arm.

“You okay?” Yadriel asked.

Yadriel’s thumb brushed the St. Jude at Julian’s throat. “In four, hold two, out six.”

Julian closed his fist around his medal. Air went in ragged and came out steadier.

“Did it say your name?” Yadriel asked quietly.