Inframundo [Underworld]

I’ll admit, I went into *Inframundo* expecting another run-of-the-mill urban fantasy, but Esquinca’s novel is far more interested in mood than mythology. The story unfolds like a fever dream had by a man who’s seen too many weird things to be surprised by anything—yet is still haunted by all of it. Casasola is a fantastic protagonist precisely because he’s *not* a chosen one or a grizzled hero. He’s a middle-aged, slightly paunchy editor who edits museum newsletters by day and drinks himself to sleep by night, his only solace the sharp-tongued Dafne, whose own past is as layered as the city’s ruins. Their relationship is the emotional core here, and Esquinca writes their dynamic with a raw, unsentimental tenderness that cuts through the supernatural haze. Edson Matus’s performance is *almost* perfect. His Casasola is a masterclass in restrained despair—you can hear the eye-rolls in his voice during office scenes, the way his tone tightens when the story veers into horror. But (and this is a big but) his pacing in the first act feels *too* languid, as if he’s mimicking Casasola’s ennui a little too faithfully. The production also suffers from a few odd editing choices; there’s a noticeable pause mid-sentence in Chapter 3 that yanked me out of the moment. Still, when the story’s horror elements kick in—particularly a sequence involving a *tlāhuēpuchi* (don’t Google it at night)—Matus’s shift into breathless terror is chilling. The audiobook’s brevity works in its favor, though I wished for more depth in the worldbuilding. The blend of Aztec mythology and Lovecraftian dread is intriguing but underdeveloped, leaving some threads frustratingly loose. That said, if you’re craving something that feels like a lost *Twilight Zone* episode set in DF’s colonial streets, this delivers in spades.