The boy’s lips trembled, and Catalina almost dropped him.
Her mother’s voice. Clear. Soft. The kind of voice she hadn’t heard since childhood, the kind of voice that once sang lullabies through cigarette smoke and cheap perfume.
“Niña… come home…”
The words shivered across the courtyard.
Catalina clutched Gabriel tighter, her body shaking. “No… no, that’s not possible. You’re dead. You’re both dead.”
Isa backed away, whispering the Lord’s Prayer under her breath. Mateo’s hand gripped his gun, but his eyes showed something close to fear.
Lucien didn’t move. He just stared at Catalina as though he could hold her together with his gaze.
“Catalina,” he said, steady. “It’s a trick. Nothing more.”
She shook her head violently. “You didn’t hear it. You don’t know.”
“I heard,” Lucien grow
