Chapter One. Julian #3
Rio had always been Julian’s shield, but seeing him extend that to the rest of their patchwork family made Julian love his brother in a different way. Maybe that was what kept them alive. Not magic, not muscle, but catching each other when the world tried to drop them.
Julian wanted to grab Luca, duct-tape him to the couch, keep him safe in the noise and warmth of the apartment. But wanting and being able were two different things. He hated that most of all.
“At least let me know when you get there, okay?” Julian managed weakly.
Luca nodded. “Yeah. Promise,” he said, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
Flaca pulled Luca into a quick hug before letting him go. Rocky messed up his hair on purpose, making him squawk, and even Omar muttered, “Text us if you need us.”
Julian walked him to the door, heart pounding like he was sending him off to war. “You know we’ll come get you if you need us,” he said.
“I know.” Luca’s smile was small but brave. “See you tomorrow.”
The door shut behind him, and the apartment felt too quiet all at once.
Julian grabbed his fork and stabbed at the last of his dinner.
“You’re gonna break it,” Omar warned.
“Better the fork than me,” Julian shot back, jaw tight.
Luca walking out the door, the way everyone had looked at him over dinner, the exhaustion of too little sleep and too many chores. All of it pressed down, heavier and heavier, until he dropped the fork with a clang.
“Screw this,” he muttered. Maybe a hot shower could burn the jitters out, scrub away the weight digging under his ribs.
He ducked down the hall, desperate for a moment alone.
The cramped space of the bathroom, thick with mildew and cheap cologne, was at least quiet.
He cranked on the shower. Water hissed as steam billowed into the room, wrapping around him like a shroud.
The heat loosened the knots in his shoulders, but something about it felt …
wrong. Off. Julian closed his eyes, tilting his head back, letting the water pour over him.
For a moment he almost believed everything was normal.
The rhythmic patter on his skin, the sharp scent of shampoo, muffled laughter from the living room—anchors he clung to. An illusion of peace.
But the steam clung too heavy, too close. He killed the water and stepped out, lightheaded. The air was smothering, thick enough to choke. Swiping at the mirror, he tried to clear the fog.
The reflection that blinked back was fragmented, the outline of his face warped, off-center. Something black was spreading across his chest.
“What the fuck—” The words snagged in his throat.
Through the smear of glass, a jagged darkness cut across his heart, branching like spiderweb veins. Smoke curled from the center, pulsing with a slow, sickly beat. It settled over the scar left by Catriz, as if mocking the blood he’d already spilled, the death Julian had already survived.
But this was different. Not the chill of spirits or the hum of brujería.
This was something else. Colder, twisted.
It didn’t feel magical so much as personal.
Like a bruise that never faded, a wound carved into his chest that no one else could see.
Except now it was there, staring back at him, undeniable.
For a second Julian wasn’t sure if he was still in the bathroom or if the world had tilted sideways. Nausea crawled up his throat. He’d cheated death once—was this the price? A warning?
His fingers hovered over the mark, hesitant. Half expecting his skin to burn or the darkness to crawl up his arm. He touched it.
Nothing. No heat. No cold. Just that dull ache he’d carried since Día de Muertos.
“Shit—” He rubbed at it, palm scouring his skin as if he could erase it. The mark stubbornly remained unchanged.
He tried to laugh, but his throat was as brittle as glass. “Probably should’ve stayed a ghost,” he muttered.
The air shifted. Heavy. Watching.
A figure reared up behind him in the mirror. Tall. Human-shaped. Wrong. Edges bleeding like ink into water, smearing into the room.
Julian’s heart slammed against his ribs. He couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, as it loomed closer.
The bathroom shrank into a cage. The laughter outside vanished, swallowed whole, leaving a hush so deep it rang in his ears.
Then—a growl. Low, guttural. It reverberated through Julian’s bones and against the tiled walls, deep and gravelly, shaking the very air from his lungs. Every instinct screamed Run.
With a trembling breath, Julian spun around, fists clenched and raised, ready to confront whatever nightmare had followed him.
But the bathroom was empty. Just towels and the stale damp.
The noise of life trickled back, muffled laughter seeping through the walls.
But the mirror offered no comfort. Only his pale face stared back, wide-eyed and trembling, a new dark mark pulsing faintly over his heart.
And the feeling—it wasn’t gone. Whatever had been watching wasn’t bound to the glass, or this room. It was in every corner, every shadow. The kind of hurt he thought he’d buried, but it waited for him anyway.
Something old. Something hungry.
And it wanted Julian.