Chapter Thirteen. Julian #3
Yadriel groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”
“Nope!” Julian said smugly, relishing the way Yadriel’s lip twitched with the beginnings of a smile. “I mean, come on. You’re Lady Death’s Chosen. Pretty sure that makes you, like, the brujx MVP.”
It was a joke—one of many—but Julian still remembered the way it had felt. That terrifying blur of death before Yadriel pulled him back. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe it had really happened. Sometimes, he thought, maybe he wasn’t supposed to come back.
Angel exhaled a laugh, but it was weak. The kind you did when you laughed along but didn’t really get the joke.
Yadriel shook his head, though the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. “You’re such a pain.”
“You literally brought me back to life,” Julian shot back, spreading his arms wide. “I’m walking, talking proof of your chosen-ness—”
A sharp inhale cut through the air. Julian spun toward Angel.
Her expression had gone still—too still. Shock rippled across her face, disbelief hollowing her eyes. The gold in them caught the light, startled, like she’d been struck.
“Wait—What?”
Julian blinked, startled. “What?” he repeated blankly, unable to figure out where he’d misstepped.
“What did you just say?” she demanded, stepping closer. “You died?”
Julian’s stomach dropped. Too late to take it back.
“Uh.” He looked to Yadriel for help but his attention was locked onto Angel, tense with a pucker between his brows.
Angel turned to face him as well. “And you—you brought him back?”
Yadriel stiffened. “It’s … complicated,” he said cautiously, his attention darting from Angel to Julian as if he were bracing for impact.
“He brought you back to life and you didn’t think to mention it?” Angel’s voice rose, cracking on the edges. Her face twisted in angry disbelief, brows furrowed so tight it carved deep lines across her forehead. Her golden eyes shimmered with something more fragile just beneath it—betrayal.
Julian’s throat burned, and his hand reflexively went to the medal around his neck.
Angel spun to Yadriel again. “You did the impossible,” she said, stepping forward now, her fists clenched and jaw locked, “and just—kept it to yourself?!”
Julian stepped forward, pulse thudding in his ears. Something in Angel had shifted—gone sharp and wild. The warmth she’d carried earlier was gone, replaced by something that bristled and burned.
Heat flared in Julian’s chest. Not just fear but also protectiveness. The way she was talking to Yadriel, demanding like he owed her something—it made Julian’s spine straighten. He wasn’t about to let anyone come at Yadriel like that.
“Angel, you don’t get it—” he said, voice firmer now.
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?”
Julian hesitated. “No,” he admitted. “But I think I’m the only option. Where the hell did you even come from?” he added, suddenly turning to Maritza.
She shrugged, nonchalant, and jerked her chin to the beige truck idling by the shop. “Tío Enrique got busy with cemetery duty. I’m the getaway car.”
Yadriel’s expression darkened slightly. Probably thinking about the spirits Lita couldn’t reach. He stared off down the street where Angel had disappeared.
“We should head out,” Yadriel murmured, dragging his gaze back to Maritza and Julian.
He turned to Julian, offering a faint smile. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Julian said, stealing a quick kiss. “Text me when you get home.”
“I will.” Yadriel squeezed him into a hug, tight and grounded, before climbing into the truck, disappearing into the passenger seat while Maritza got into the driver’s.
She rolled down the window as they pulled away. “Try to stay out of trouble, Jules!”
Julian gave a tired, half-hearted smile. “No promises!”
The taillights faded into the dark, leaving Julian standing alone in the empty lot.
For a long moment, he just stood there, staring into the night. His thoughts churned.
Angel had cracked open—not just from rage but also from grief. And now Julian couldn’t stop wondering who she’d lost. Or what she was willing to do to get them back.
He knew that feeling—how loss could hollow you out until all that was left was wanting.
Angel had lost someone, and her fury wasn’t about power.
It was about pain. About wanting the world to make sense again, no matter the cost. And as much as he hated to admit it, part of him understood.
If it meant seeing his dad again—if it meant undoing everything that hurt—he didn’t know what he’d refuse.
He’d been so caught up in defending Yadriel that he hadn’t realized how badly he’d hurt Angel just by existing—by being the proof of what she’d lost. The miracle she couldn’t have. And the guilt of that sank deep, heavy as the night around him.
He wasn’t a miracle. Just a boy of borrowed breath.
Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow, I’ll fix it.
The apartment door creaked open, and Julian stepped inside, the lingering chill of the night still clinging to his skin. The warmth inside hit him like a wave—not just the heat, but the noise.
Flaca and Rocky were arguing down the hall, probably over the bathroom again. The smell of spaghetti and garlic still hung thick in the air, sharp and slightly burnt.
Omar was sprawled out on the couch, his socked feet propped up on the makeshift coffee table, one arm slung lazily over his stomach. The dull murmur of a late-night anime played in the background, punctuated by dramatic sword clashes and yelling characters.
His head turned lazily as Julian entered, one brow already raised.
Next to him, Luca was mostly buried under a mountain of pillows and a lumpy quilt. Only his eyes were visible—wide and sharp, tracking Julian the moment he stepped inside.
Julian gave a casual wave, trying to slide back into the space like nothing had happened. “Hey,” he said, kicking off his shoes.
“Hey,” Omar grunted back, his tone flat but his posture relaxed when Julian sank into the seat beside him.
Julian couldn’t ignore Luca, though, not when the kid was still watching him with those unblinking eyes.
Luca’s fingers worked absentmindedly at the woven bracelet on his wrist—the one Julian had made him out of scraps of his blankie.
Luca had been wearing it religiously, twisting it when he was anxious or deep in thought.
Right now, he was both.
“You good?” Omar asked, suspicion cutting through the sleepy gruffness of his tone.
“Yeah. Long day,” Julian replied quickly, his voice a shade too tight. He waved a hand like it was no big deal, but Omar didn’t seem convinced.
Luca’s quiet gaze stayed on Julian.
Omar snorted. “You look like hell.”