Page 87 of Espíritu

But Angel surged ahead, anger igniting behind her eyes.

“Do you even realize what that means?!” she snapped. “You can undo death! You beat it! You could fix everything—bring people back, stop the pain—and you’re just sitting on that?!”

Yadriel flinched. “I did not beat death,” he said firmly. “I worked with Lady Death, not against her. And it’s not something I can do twice—”

“Then teach me!” Angel barked, taking a step closer to Yadriel.

“Watch it,” Julian warned, putting out a hand to block Angel, but it was like she couldn’t even see him.

“Show me how,” Angel insisted. “Just tell me what you did, and I’ll do it myself!”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Yadriel said, his voice steady but tight as he held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Bullshit!” Angel’s voice was deeper now—desperation curdled into fury. “You did it. He’s right here!” she said, pointing. “So either you can’t, or you won’t.”

“Angel, dude, you gotta chill—” Julian warned.

“Show me!” Angel wasn’t yelling now. She was pleading.

“It’s not that simple,” Yadriel said. Instead of finding anger in his eyes, Julian only saw sorrow.

But Angel wasn’t listening. Julian could see it—the way she was somewhere else, pulled under by something dark.

“Show me how!” Angel repeated—lost, untethered, broken.

Yadriel’s shoulders tensed. “It wasn’t a spell. It was a bond. A pact with Lady Death herself.”

The name landed like a slap. Angel reeled back a step, breath caught in her throat.

“And it nearly killed him!” came a sharp voice from behind them. Maritza. She appeared as if summoned, planting herself at Yadriel’s side.

Julian almost sagged with relief, but Maritza’s glare could’ve burned a hole through concrete.

“I’m the one who kept him alive,” she snapped, eyes blazing and voice sharp. “You think this was some easy miracle? That it didn’t cost anything?”

Angel didn’t respond right away. She stood frozen, shoulders heaving, like her own body was struggling to contain the weight of it all.

“You think I wouldn’t pay that cost?” she rasped. “You think I wouldn’t burn for them if it meant bringing them back?!”

Julian’s heart thudded. Them. Who was Angel talking about? Who had she lost—and how badly did she want them back?

Julian looked to Yadriel and then Maritza. None of them knew what to say.

For a long, terrible moment, silence hung between them, heavy as a tombstone. The anguish in Angel’s expression deepened, raw and unfiltered. With a choked sound—somewhere between a sob and a snarl—Angel turned sharply on her heel and tore away, disappearing into the darkness like a shadow fleeing the light.

“Shit,” Julian muttered, staring after them. A pang of guilt twisted in his gut.

Yadriel let out a slow, shaky breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I … didn’t mean to upset her,” he said, his voice small.

“It’s not your fault,” Maritza said, sharp but not unkind. She blew out a breath, her anger cooling into frustration. “She shouldn’t have come at you like that. It wasn’t okay.”

Julian finally tore his gaze from the street, looking at both of them. Angel’s voice was still ringing in his ears—You think I wouldn’t burn for them?

He was standing on the edge of something he didn’t understand.

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” he muttered, jaw clenched. “I think … I think she needs someone to talk to.”

Maritza gave him a look. Not judgmental, but skeptical. “You sure that someone should be you?”