Page 90 of Espíritu

A prickle crawled up his spine. He turned to the window, but the blinds were steady, the neon light continuing to pulse. Nothing outside.

He stepped toward his bed—and stopped.

The closet door was cracked open.

Only a sliver.

But from inside, a faint glow pulsed—pale blue, soft at first, like the shimmer of moonlight across deep water. Then stronger. Rhythmic.

Julian’s breath hitched. His pulse thudded at his temples, sweat prickling on his brow.

Julian.

His name scraped through the air like nails on glass.

Julian flinched. Spun.

No one.

Just the light. Just the closet.

Julian.

It came again—not loud but unmistakable. Not a threat, not even angry.

But the way it said it, like it knew him.

Not like Angel, who was trying to help. Not like Yadriel, who loved him. This was deeper.

Older. Like something carved into his bones.

The voice was familiar. Not recognizable. Not yet. But something in it hit wrong in the exact right place, like a bruise pressed by an invisible finger.

His chest tightened. His hands curled into fists. He wanted to run—or scream—or answer.

He took one step toward the closet.

The light grew brighter, and the stillness shattered.

Shadows stretched across the walls, pulsing like they had a heartbeat. Julian’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as the darkness coiled like living ink.

“Who’s there?” Julian demanded, fists clenched, though his gut twisted. The silence swelled, thick and expectant.

JULIAN.

His gaze snapped to the closet. Darkness gaped wide, shadows undulating, drawing him closer with a watery blue glow. Heart pounding, Julian crept forward, each step weighted with dread. The light reflected off the closet walls like ripples in a deep lake, growing brighter.

He swore he heard it—breathing, faint but unmistakable.

“What the fuck?” he whispered, staring into the pulsing blue light. What was it? The question twisted in his gut like a knife—

“What are you doing?”

A shout tore out of him. He jerked backward, heels skidding on the floor as he scrambled away from the closet, palms stinging.

Rio was propped up on his side, squinting at Julian in the dark.

“What are you doing, man?” Rio repeated, his voice rough with sleep, his brow furrowed.