Page 9 of Espíritu

Yadriel had seen Julian cocky, reckless, even furious. But this? The raw terror in his eyes—the absence of bravado—twisted something sharp in Yadriel’s chest. For a split second, Julian looked like he had the night he died.

Yadriel pushed that memory down, hard. “Dark spot?” he managed, already moving closer. His hands hovered, unsure what to do.

“YES. And it GROWLED!” Julian’s voice cracked on the last word.

Maritza opened her mouth, probably to make a joke, but Yadriel shot her a warning glance. This wasn’t the usual Julian theatrics. His boyfriend’s brave front had slipped, and underneath, Yadriel saw raw fear.

“Jules, slow down,” Yadriel said, forcing his own voice steady. “Breathe.”

Julian yanked up his shirt, baring his chest.

“Look!” he barked, as though if he shouted loud enough, they’d finally see what he did.

Maritza yelped, throwing up her hands. “Whoa, whoa! This is a no-nipples zone! Cover that up before you scar me for life, dude!”

Julian pointed at his chest again. His gaze flicked wildly between them, desperate, begging. “LOOK!” he repeated.

Yadriel leaned in, eyes scanning Julian’s sternum where he jabbed frantically. All he saw was skin—warm, flushed—rising and falling in jagged rhythm.

And the scar, still purple and puckered from where Catriz’s blade had pierced him weeks ago.

“Jules…” Yadriel reached out, just to touch him, just to make sure Julian was still solid and here. He laid his palm over the puckered scar but felt only Julian’s hot, sweaty skin and the thudding beat of his heart. “Nothing’s there. Just your scar.”

Julian’s expression crumpled, confusion curdling into frustration. “What? No! Not the scar!” He pressed Yadriel’s hand harder. “The spot! Right there! It’s huge! It’s moving!”

Yadriel didn’t know what to say. There was no dark spot, and there was certainly nothing moving.

“You really don’t see it?” Julian whispered, all the fight draining into something smaller, shakier.

Maritza’s eyes darted toward Yadriel, nervous. “I’m not seeing anything, either…”

Yadriel shook his head.

Julian raked a trembling hand over his buzzed scalp with a noise that was half growl, half plea.

“Something’s wrong with me.”

Maritza rolled her eyes too fast, like she was trying to chase the tension away. “You hit your head skateboarding again?”

“It’s like my brain is just buzzing nonstop,” Julian said, words tripping as he rushed to get them out. “Like there’s a bunch of tabs open in there and I can’t find the one playing an ad!”

“That’s because you have ADHD,” Maritza said.

He scowled. “How do you know that?”

“How do you not?”

Julian’s fists balled at his sides. “I’m not making this up! I can feel it. Like this—this emptiness, right over my heart.” He shuddered hard, clutching his biceps as if he needed to hold himself together.

The sight gutted Yadriel. Julian was always fire, always motion, never fragile like this. Yadriel loved him for that spark, and to see it flicker was freaking him out.

He was supposed to be the brujo now, someone who could protect people. But standing there watching Julian unravel, he didn’t feel powerful at all, just useless.

“Jules—” he started, but Julian cut him off.

“What if I’m turning maligno?”

The question flooded Yadriel’s mind with images of twisted, restless spirits—lost, dangerous, unrecognizable.