Page 89 of Espíritu

Julian made it halfway down the hall before Omar’s voice called out to him. “Somethin’ weird happen?”

Julian froze, his back to the room. “What?”

“You got that look on your face again.” Omar wasn’t teasing anymore. “Like you’re gonna barf or something.”

Julian turned. Luca just stared at him, like he was waiting for the truth to fall out.

Julian exhaled a laugh, trying to play it off as he turned his attention back to Omar. “You sound like Rio.”

Omar sat up straighter. “Yeah, well, maybe he’s got a point.”

Julian clenched his jaw. Omar wasn’t making this any easier on him, and he was tired of getting grilled. “Wow. Thanks for the support,” he said, unable to keep the hostility from his voice.

Omar’s nostrils flared. “I am supporting you,” he said. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

“I already told you—”

“You haven’t told us shit.”

The silence that followed was sharp. Tense.

Luca curled deeper into his blanket, face turned away. His hands had dropped from the bracelet. They tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves instead, and for a second, Julian saw it.

The dark spot. His Marca Hueca.

It peeked out from under the stretched neck of Luca’s sweater, trailing past his collarbone. Faint, shadowed, and unmistakable.

Guilt slammed into Julian.

Luca was getting worse, and Julian was still lying.

“I just need some sleep,” he muttered, not looking at either of them.

He heard Omar suck his teeth, could picture him shaking his head.

Julian flinched at the bite in his voice, then turned down the hall fast, brushing shoulders with Rocky as she exited the bathroom mid-argument with Flaca.

“Next time you steal my face wash, I’m pouring glitter in your shampoo!” Rocky snapped.

“You act like that’s a punishment!” Flaca shot back.

Julian managed a smile as he passed. Rocky and Flaca continued their argument into the living room.

He reached the shared bedroom door and paused, hand on the knob. For a second, he swore he saw movement—just a ripple of shadow across the hall. A trick of the light.

Julian exhaled and pushed the door open. He felt it the second he stepped inside.

Rio was asleep under the mound of his blanket, the lights flicked off, but a shiver crawled up Julian’s spine. He froze, squinting into the dark. The pulsing neon sign from the gas station filtered through the blinds, but the shadows felt too still, too watchful.

The room felt colder than it should be, raising the hairs on his arms.

Julian stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The sound of the latch catching echoed too loudly. Rio’s steady breathing came from the far bed, deep and slow, but even that felt … fragile.

Julian stood still. Listening. Watching.

Waiting.

The shadows were wrong. They leaned at strange angles. The air had weight—thick, like breath.