### **Chapter 31: The Tears of Saint Lucy**
The case of the weeping statue was weird, even for them. A woman named Maria called. Her grandmother’s statue of Saint Lucy was crying black tears that smelled like salt and sorrow. It was happening every night at 3 AM.
“Probably a ghost,” Gunn said in the car. “A sad ghost who really likes statues.”
“Or a low-level demonic manifestation,” Wesley said, checking a book on religious symbols. “Using the statue as a focus to drain emotional energy.”
Angel was quiet. He was still thinking about the photos, about Faith, about the giant, invisible enemy they couldn’t seem to hurt. A crying statue felt small. It felt good.
Maria’s house was small and full of the smell of old food and incense. The statue was in a corner, a plaster figure of a saint w
