After that first night, Bruno and Hernando made it a point for one of them to stay over whenever possible. From Hernando sneaking out in the dead of night to make an arduous trek, to Bruno waiting for all the candlelight to die out in the other boy's squat house before scaling in through Hernando's bedroom window. All this was done so that Hernando could be there for Bruno when he drifted off. This solidarity formed the new foundation upon which the Madrigal son built his life. Though the future remained just as bleak and condemnable as it always seemed to be, at least he no longer faced it alone.

Somehow, just knowing that Hernando, resolute and devoted, was there was comfort enough for Bruno to relent and welcome sleep without much of a struggle. He treasured the young man's selflessness and company, so much so that the rare nights he found himself alone seemed desolate, a void taking up the space where safety and a bittersweet joy once reigned.

This loneliness was expounded upon after the loss of Afortunada, his loyal companion, and his first confidant. After ten happy years, and having welcomed several generations of children into her family, she had passed peacefully in the pair's loving hands. Hernando and Bruno wept freely for the one only they seemed to know was more than "just a rat." Bruno had buried her, as he had planned to all those years ago with reverence and respect, adorning her little mound with flowers and a cross.

It was on one such lonesome evening that Bruno left the bright sunlit world of his room to walk Casita in the quiet hours. The house, acutely aware of all its inhabitants' needs clattered in muted tones, floor tiles lifting and falling before racing in a wave towards the kitchen.

Coffee, Bruno thought, Casita was urging him towards the one thing it could provide what he truly needed in that moment. As he edged his way through the house however, he was startled to hear the sound of crying. The hairs on his neck and arms rising, stomach in knots, the young man knew from lack of rain that it had to be his mother.

He knew of loss now, understood it, and had come face-to-face with more death than any living person should ever have to, his mind fracturing and splintering under the pressure; flashes, not visions, but flashes of the traumas as though he'd lived through them personally came to him now, even in broad daylight. Because of this Bruno felt now, perhaps, he could finally be of some comfort to the woman. Or, at least he hoped he could.

Sweeping down the hall he stopped short from crossing the kitchen's threshold. There, amid a sea of spilt flour sat not his mother, but his sister, Julieta, sobbing into white dusted hands. Surprised Bruno found himself staring agape at the surreal and quite absurd scene. Why was Julieta, of all people, crying? It just didn't make sense.

"Julieta?" he whispered, venturing into the sea of flour, leaving tracks in his wake.

The young woman's head snapped up, her big, sorrowful brown eyes wide. She stared at him for a moment, as if scared that she had been caught doing something wrong. Quickly she jumped to her feet and began toying about with various bowls and measuring cups, scooping heaps of flour directly from the countertop and into one of the many awaiting vessels.

"What are you doing up so early?" she asked sniffing her nose, voice thick from crying.

"I couldn't sleep," Bruno said, approaching his sister with caution, the tension in her shoulders making it look like she could break at any moment. "What's wrong?"

The young woman turned on him with a look that reminded him far too much of their mother.

"¿Seriamente?" she scoffed, motioning to the disaster that was the kitchen before turning back to her work. "I spilt the flour."

Bruno surveyed the mess and nodded. "That excuse might work with someone else, but I've seen you burn an entire pot of ajiaco, and you didn't even bat an eye. You just dumped it out and started again. Flour? That's nothing." he said, leaning on the counter so that he could see her face. "What's wrong?" he asked again, poking her with his index finger as he did.

Julieta stood motionless for a long while, leaning with both hands on the countertop, fresh tear tracks forming in the flour that dusted her cheeks. "It's just so hard," she whispered.

"What is?"

"Everything!" the girl wailed, falling back to the floor. "Everyone always needs things from me! I feel like I have to be perfect, and if I'm not perfect, I'm letting everyone down! There's this huge weight on my chest all the time, and sometimes I can't even breathe, Bruno! It's like there's no air!" she sobbed, taking a huge ragged breath as her crying became harsher.

Bruno watched in shock, what was there he could say? He'd had no idea. Her gift, her life always seemed so blissfully perfect. All she did was bake, and the people flocked to sing her praises. How could she possibly be so miserable? Envy crept over Bruno, and he began to scowl.

Everyone loved Julita, they loved her as much as they feared Pepa and hated him. She had no right to tears, he thought scornfully, anger bubbling in his chest. Bruno clenched his fists to keep from doing or saying something he might regret. He wanted to yell, to shout, to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. If they were any younger he might have even hit her, pulled her hair, started a scuffle, but they weren't children anymore.

Then, as he watched his sister desperately clutching her heart through a fistful of her blouse in one hand the other fanning desperately for air, something changed. He felt himself soften, and remember just how much she meant, not just to the town, but to him. She was his sister. How many monsters had she chased away when the nursery was dark in the dead of night? How many skinned knees and bumped elbows had she kissed better even before receiving her gift? How many secrets had they trusted one another with when they were little?

With a sigh, the young man lowered himself to the tiles beside her. He now felt remorseful and ashamed for all the whispered mockeries he and Pepa had passed between themselves behind her back, for all the capers and misadventures they hadn't invited her to join in on, for excluding her based on their envy of her perceived happiness.

Just as much as the emotional redhead she was his sister too, and he loved her with every fiber of his being. Even if he was jealous, even if he didn't understand. Her pain was his pain, and if there was anything he could do to make it right, he would. That's just what it meant to be family.

"I can't breathe!" Julieta gasped. "I can't breathe! I can't breathe! Bruno, I can't breathe!"

"I know, shh ... I know ..." he murmured, pulling her as far into his lap as he could.

He knew this place, the inescapable fear, the sensation that you're drowning, the overwhelming panic that holds you like a vice. He'd been there many times before, and he was glad to be here now to help Julieta through it.

"The air is there, querida hermana, just breathe. Take your time, I've got you. You're safe." Bruno pressed a kiss into the crown of her head, then, singing a lullaby from their childhood he rocked her, safe and loved in his arms.

After Julieta's weeping had turned into hiccups as she struggled to compose herself, she leaned against her brother's chest as he listened with a learned patience while she lamented her struggles.

"It's like I'm in a glass box watching the world roll past me." she explained. "I know Pepa is miserable, and when we were kids farmers would tell their children to pinch her or push her or anything to make her cry so they could have good rains… And you with your visions - I've heard you at night - but - ugh!" Julieta let out a shout of frustration, as she seemed to undo her own argument.

"I know the two of you have it hard, okay, I do!" she said firmly. "But, at least you two still got to be kids, and play, and have fun. I had to grow up so fast Bruno. I had to start waking up before dawn to bake and cook and clean up whatever mess I made, and then hand out whatever I had cooked. Everyday." she said with meaning. "I never got to run around, I never got to be silly. I had to be a beacon of hope to the people. A beacon, that's what Mamá had told me. I was five..."

"And now, now I have to make so much food Bruno because people who aren't even sick or hurt still want something, just in case, or just to have a part of the blessing with them throughout their day! And by the time I get home, I'm too tired for anything else!" Julieta wailed tearfully.

Bruno listened, chewing on his lower lip as she railed. A nagging sense of guilt and failure inside.

"And then there's the expectations!" she yelled. "Everyone expects me to be perfect, and when I do try to just have fun or be myself all I get is disappointed looks. Bruno, they treat me like I'm holy!" Her words were dripping with venom and spite now.

Fixing her brother with a stare she repeated her words, "They think I'm holy."

"I'm sure they don't actually-"

"They do!" she declared firmly.

"Julieta -"

"Do you know how many of them pray before they take my food like it's a sacrament? Some of them cross themselves and bow before taking it from me!" Her tears were beginning to return, her voice tightly pinched with contempt. "Señora Alleyne brought her baby to me yesterday!"

"Isn't her baby -" Bruno started to ask.

"Three days old Bruno, the baby is three days old! She is a beautiful, healthy baby girl, and Señora Alleyne brought her to me not to be healed, but to be blessed! She brought me her baby to bless it, Bruno! I am not a priest! I'm not a saint!" she shrieked, beginning to quiver all over.

Shocked Bruno took her words in and mulled them over, that was absurd, and extreme. It made no sense. Why would anyone do that?

"What did you do?" he asked.

"I don't know! I just froze for a second! I didn't know what to do, but she was waiting, and everyone was watching, staring at me, so I mumbled something about a long happy life full of health and love. It seemed to make Señora happy, but I feel so guilty and dirty for doing it!" she sobbed, burying her face into the comforting folds of his shirt.

"I'm an affront to God!" she whimpered before pulling away with a gasp. "What if these powers don't come from God? What if they come from the adversary? What if- what if it's a trick to lead people astray? What if I'm a false prophet? Bruno, what if all those people who bow and pray to me are going to go to hell?"

"They're not!" he snapped reflexively.

Bruno was trembling now, and completely taken aback. He thought she had been the lucky one, the one who was actually given a gift, not a curse. He had believed that her life and her blessing made her happy and gave her a sense of fulfillment. Now, he realized he was wrong, very, very wrong.

"I'm going to hell!" she wept.

"No, no you're not. You've done nothing wrong." Bruno said shaking her firmly by the shoulders. "Nothing."

They sat huddled together on the floor crying, and clinging to one another for a long time before either found the words to speak.

"Julietita ..." he began, taking stock of the kitchen which must have felt to her, like the prison his vision cave was to him. "I had no idea."

"Don't tell Mamà! Please don't tell Mamá, I don't want her to be disappointed in me." the young woman whispered with anxiety.

"I won't." he promised, spotting a large basket sporting a red ribbon that was practically overflowing with arepa on the table.

He couldn't make her fear, self-doubt, or other people's perceptions go away, but there was something he could do for her, and he was determined to do it. Standing, he pulled her up after him. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she kept buckling at the knee, but he held her steady.

"You said that everyone in town comes to you, injured, sick or not?" Bruno inquired, sliding the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind.

"Yes!" his sister wailed, the weight of her sorrow threatening to drag her back down.

His arm around her shoulders Bruno kept Julieta up. "Okay. It's okay. I've got an idea. You go back to bed and -"

"What? No! Bruno! I can't. The people, they're depending on me. Mamá will be disappointed in me!" Julieta rushed out in a panic, trying to pull away, a look of sheer terror in her eyes.

"Listen to me!" the young man snapped. "You aren't going to let anyone down."

"How? If I lay back down, even for a minute, there won't be enough for everyone!"

"Not everyone needs a miracle. You even said so yourself. They just want one, just in case." Bruno reasoned thoughtfully. "Now, your brother might not be good for much, but at least he knows his way around a kitchen. When someone comes to you today and they really, truly need your miracle, give them an arepa from this basket, the one with the ribbon, if not, give them one of mine."

As he explained the concept Bruno had already set to work. Even though Julieta was the only one of the Madrigal children to cook regularly for the family, their mother had taught them all the basics. Gradually blending almost equal parts of the cooked corn flour with water, and a pinch of salt he got straight down to business without waiting for a reply.

"Bruno?" Julieta asked, watching him form the dough.

"Just go back to sleep, you need it Julieta and there's no amount of coffee or magical arepas that can fix it." he replied, speaking from experience.

"Thank you," she said, voice breaking as she hugged him from behind. "Thank you so much!"

Tipping his head to the side, in a type of armless hug, Bruno smiled, his perpetually troubled heart a little lighter. "As for the rest, try not to worry. All anyone can do is what they think is right. You're bringing people hope, and comfort. That can't be evil. Do you understand me?"

Julieta nodded into his back.

"Goodnight mi querida hermana." the young man smiled.

Thinking then as she walked away Bruno turned, catching Julieta just as she stepped over the threshold. She was crying again.

"Julieta," he said, offering an empathetic smile. "I usually don't get much sleep anyways, so we could make this a regular thing. If you wanted."

Her eyes swimming, she nodded. "Si, I would like that. Thank you."

"Te quiero, Julietita."

"Te quiero, Brunito."

Worry for his sisters ate at the young man's soul while he worked, but so too did a determination to do whatever he could to make things better for them. And so it was that, that night Bruno began his own sort of apprenticeship, slipping into the kitchen in the early morning hours to make false miracles. If ever he were to be the villain the town branded him as, it would be because of this...