Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was still strange for Rumi to showcase her demon markings so openly.

Having them out and exposed around Mira and Zoey was one thing, but being seen by the ever-growing number of Huntrix fans was something else entirely.

The buzz following their performance at the Idol Awards and the Saja Boys final performance had been overwhelming. For the fans, it wasn’t just a show, it was the beginning of a new era. Headline after headline, post after post, their performance wasn’t just the talk of the town… it was the talk of the world.

Huntrix Wows Fans with Jaw-Dropping Special Effects at Idol Awards!

PR Stunt of the Century? How Huntrix is Shaking Up the K-Pop Scene

Huntrix’s Rumi Debuts Bold New Tattoos in Show-Stopping Idol Awards Performance

Saja Boys Disappear: Breakup Rumours or a Mastermind PR Move?

From Heartbreak to Harmony: How Huntrix’s New Era is Sparking a Transformation

Where Are the Saja Boys? Fans Question Sudden Disappearance

Rumi had tried not to pay too much attention to the media, but that was easier said than done when the world seemed obsessed with dissecting the mind-boggling show they’d put on, or with how Bobby kept gushing over the new song they’d “premiered” at the Saja Boys’ concert, calling the ballad a possible anthem of the decade.

"Such a great idea, girls! Premiering the song in collaboration with the Saja Boys on the night of their final performance? Brilliant! Strange for the boys to offer to share the spotlight, though… Especially with their sudden disbandment.” Bobby had raved in the days after the show.

Oh, if only he knew...

Huntrix was bigger than ever. Their bond as a team had never been stronger, and they’d faced fewer demons in the past few months than ever before. Rumi knew she should be happy, raving and celebrating like Mira and Zoey still were, as if they were still riding the high of their performance from months ago.

Everything was great, perfect even.

So then, why did her heart feel like it was being weighed down by rocks? Why did it feel as though there was an ache in her bones that no amount of time at the bathhouse could remedy?

It was as if something inside her had been quietly splintering, not loudly enough to break, but just enough to make every breath feel heavier. Her chest was a hollow cage, echoing with a presence she couldn’t name, and the silence left behind rang louder than applause ever could. She should’ve felt triumphant… but all she could feel was the slow, steady sinking of something unfinished, something lost.

And Rumi had no idea how to pull herself out of this agony — a hollow, gnawing ache she had no name for, no explanation, no reason she could wrap her mind around. Her heart twisted under a weight she couldn’t justify, except for the one truth she couldn’t bear to acknowledge. The one she buried beneath layers of distraction and denial.

It haunted her dreams every night.

Two soft, sorrowful golden eyes, wide and cat-like, glowing with delicate tension, staring back at her; brimming with everything he wanted to say but never could. They shimmered like liquid light, deep and dark and endlessly aching. And framing them were jagged, branching markings etched into his skin, glowing violet like the ones that curled along her own.

Marks that pulsed like memories; shared, unfinished, and quietly unbearable.

Rumi had long grown accustomed to the dreams that tore her from sleep in the dead of night, her body slick with sweat, dampening the sheets beneath her. Her heart would pound against her ribs like a trapped thing, not just startled, but searching. It felt less like she was waking from something terrifying, and more like she was being pulled from something unfinished.

As if her heart wasn’t running from danger… but desperately trying to run toward something just out of reach.

Something familiar.

Something lost.

Chapter Text

Everything was going to be fine.

All Rumi needed to do was throw herself into work,  and with the trajectory of their latest release, that shouldn’t be too hard. The fans were devouring What It Sounds Like, and that meant there was plenty to follow.

A comeback of this magnitude would be intense. Press conferences, music show performances, radio appearances, entertainment programs, interviews, fan signings, music videos — the full works.

A schedule this packed was exactly what she needed. No time to think, no space to feel, just movement, noise, and distraction. Perfect.

She had Mira and Zoey at her side, and their friendship as a trio had never been stronger since the defeat of Gwi-Ma. They were the flavour packet to her instant ramen; small, essential, and the burst of warmth that made everything feel whole. Things might have been rocky months ago, but bringing down the Demon King had only brought them closer. They accepted her for everything she was, and for the first time, she accepted herself too.

Sure, they hadn’t created a Golden Honmoon, but the barrier was stronger than it had ever been, and that was what really mattered.

Besides, now that she had come to embrace her demon markings, there was no rush to force something that wasn’t ready. Demons were appearing less and less, as if the news of their king’s downfall had spread like a plague through the demon realm, silencing their hunger and dimming their ambition.

For the first time in years, peace didn’t feel like a fantasy.

Yet, deep within that achy, hollow place carved into her heart, there was a part of her that wasn’t so worried about creating the Golden Honmoon.

A quiet part that wondered if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t such a bad thing that demons still had a way through. That without Gwi-Ma’s grip forcing their hands, perhaps the demons could learn to find contentment in their own realm. That when they crossed into this world, it wouldn’t be out of desperation or malice.

That maybe things didn’t have to be so black and white.

That maybe… they were capable of redemption.

And maybe, just maybe, if they could still come and go… then he…

No.

Rumi shook her head, cutting off the thought before it could spiral. Before the small flicker of hope could catch and burn into something crueller. Something twisted by longing, warped by what-ifs, and impossible to put out once it took hold.

He was gone.

And no amount of hoping, no amount of empathy for demons, was going to change that.

But it didn’t stop that small flicker, barely even a kindling, of hope from sizzling quietly inside her. A fragile, stubborn curl of light buried deep beneath the hollowness, longing to spark into something more. It yearned to burn bright and bold and beautiful, to blaze through her chest until there was no room left for doubt, or sorrow, or the quiet sting of regret.

She tried, god, she tried, to keep those feelings buried. To smother them beneath reason and routine. But no matter how tightly she held the lid down, they seeped through the cracks, lingering like heat after a wildfire.

That’s all demons do, feel.

Rumi ignored the memory of his voice as it swirled through her mind, uninvited and persistent, dragging her back to moments she couldn’t stop replaying. Moments where she could’ve done more. Said more. Taken bigger strides to reach him. She could’ve held his hand longer, cupped his delicate, handsome face in her palms, and told him it was going to be okay, that they could face it all together. That everything was better when they were side by side, and there wasn’t a storm they couldn’t weather if they just held on.

Then maybe he would’ve seen how much she meant it. He would’ve felt the truth in her voice, the longing and concern running through her veins, through the glowing markings they both carried like a tether. He would’ve understood. Because he would’ve seen himself reflected in her eyes.

And maybe then, he would’ve leaned into her touch, melted into her arms, tilted his mouth toward hers until their lips were only a breath apart. Until his lips ghosted over hers and—

Rumi snapped herself out of it, jolted like she’d been burned.

What in all the realms?

It was rare for her to spiral like that, rarer still to get swept up in a fantasy that vivid, that intense.

Maybe she needed sleep. Or maybe she just needed to go back to the bathhouse with Mira and Zoey.

Yes, that was exactly what she needed; a long, warm soak with her girls, where they could laugh about fan edits, talk about this new era of music, and chart out the path ahead. Where the weight of the world could melt off their shoulders for a while.

Yes. That sounded like exactly what Rumi needed.

Everything was going to be fine.

~ 

“What do you mean we’re going on hiatus?”

“I mean exactly that. We’re going on hiatus,” Mira replied in that soft, monotone voice Rumi had come to recognise as simply the way she spoke, sitting opposite her on the couch with her legs tucked neatly beneath her in a cross-legged pose.

Her voice was calm, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed just how hard the words were to say.

“And when exactly were you planning to tell me this?” Rumi asked, unable to keep the hurt from bleeding into her voice. “When did you even decide this?”

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” Mira replied, her tone flat but not unkind.

“That’s not the point I was making, and you know it,” Rumi said sharply, the sting of betrayal flickering just beneath her words.

“C’mon, Rumi, it’s not going to be that bad!” Zoey chimed in from her spot between the two of them, her legs slung over the back of the couch, her body curled into an L-shape.

It never ceased to boggle Rumi how Zoey found that position even remotely comfortable; limbs contorted, sense of gravity completely off, kicking her legs in the air like she weighed nothing at all.

“And just how long have you known about this?” Rumi snapped, pointing an accusing finger in Zoey’s direction.

“Dude, chill,” Zoey said, hands raised in mock surrender, “I only found out today, after Mira talked logistics with Bobby.”

“You’ve already spoken to Bobby about this?!” Rumi’s voice cracked, the steady ringing in her ears swelling into a full-blown chorus.

“I would’ve told you the second I got home,” Mira cut in, leaning back against the couch, “but you weren’t here, and you’ve been MIA all day.”

“Yeah, what’s with that, anyway? Are you okay, Rumi? Do you need to talk about anything?” Zoey asked, her voice softening, concern flickering in her eyes.

“I’m fine!” Rumi replied, a little too quickly to be convincing, and just sharp enough to sound anything but nonchalant.

Neither Zoey nor Mira missed it.

And maybe it wasn’t wise to be picking fights, but Rumi felt like her emotions were glitching, sparking wildly out of sync. There were too many feelings inside her, colliding and crashing, like she was wrestling with thoughts and anger that didn’t even belong to her.

It had been like this for a while now, but lately, it was getting worse.

She knew Mira and Zoey shared her relentless work ethic, so for Mira to call a hiatus… there had to be a reason. A good one. And Mira was right, Rumi hadn’t been home today. Truthfully, she wasn’t home most days.

Whenever they weren’t rehearsing, writing, or drowning in press obligations, she found the apartment unbearable. The silence was too loud, the walls too close. Her thoughts splintered the moment she sat still.

So, most nights, she walked. Strolled through the city aimlessly. Patrolled deep into the night, looking for demons, searching for cracks in the Honmoon barrier — any excuse to stay in motion. Because if she stopped for even a second, she was sure those heavy, paralysing thoughts would claw their way to the surface and tear her apart from the inside out.

She couldn’t name what it was, only that it was too big. Too much.

Sinking into the couch cushions behind her, Rumi let out a long, frustrated sigh.

“I—” she started, but the words caught in her throat. “I’m fine. Honestly. I just… I was so ready for us to throw ourselves into work. We’re the most popular we’ve ever been, and we were gearing up to start prepping for the next world tour, and—”

“My dad is sick.” Mira spoke suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it louder might make it more real.

That stopped Rumi’s racing thoughts in an instant, the next words she had been about to say dying on her tongue.

“Your—he’s… what?” Rumi blinked, her mind struggling to process what Mira had just revealed so openly.

Mira had always been the black sheep of her family, so much so that it had become part of her image and reputation as an idol. The ‘bad girl’ of the family, whose parents had ostracised her, unable to tame her wild spirit or fully accept her talent for singing.

Though Rumi knew that was only part of the reason.

Unlike herself, who had known what she was, and what she would become, from a young age, neither Mira nor Zoey had been aware of their demon-hunting abilities. While Rumi had been raised by Celine and instilled with all the knowledge of what her future role would involve (all while being forced to hide her true nature as half-demon), the same couldn’t be said for Mira or Zoey.

Mira rarely spoke of her family, and neither Rumi nor Zoey knew the full extent of what had happened between them. But Rumi sensed it had something to do with Mira’s role as a demon hunter.

Not that her parents were privy to that information, but Rumi doubted that Mira’s career as a famous singer would sway parents as controlling and oppressive as hers — even if they discovered that the fate and protection of their realm depended on Mira’s ability to sing to the masses.

Juggling a double life was never easy, and there were plenty of K-dramas, movies, and stories about it for the girls to understand the struggle, even if they hadn’t lived it themselves. Rumi couldn’t imagine having to keep something so important a secret from a parent.

Not that she would know, having barely known hers before they died.

What had her parents been like, she found herself wondering. Did she even remember what they looked like? Had she inherited her fierce beauty from her human mother, her strong will and resilience from her demon father? Did she have his eyes, her mother’s hair?

Could she even truly recall her demon father? Had he ever really been there?

How had her parents met in the first place?

“Hello… Earth to Rumi?” Zoey’s voice pulled her back from the depths of her thoughts.

Rumi blinked, shaking herself free from what felt akin to an invisible tether she hadn’t even realised she’d been following.

There she went again, spiralling down thoughts that felt so unlike her own, yet kept flooding her mind all the same.

Since when had she become this inquisitive, this curious, or prone to zoning out? It was starting to worry her, especially if it was beginning to creep into her conversations with others.

“Sorry, I just… got lost in thought. I’m sorry, Mira, about your dad. That’s—”

“—karmic retribution?” Mira suggested off-handedly.

“I was going to say really terrible,” Rumi frowned in response, “How are you feeling about it all?”

“I don’t know. The man’s a neurotic, manipulative piece of shit who never gave a rat’s ass about me, or my passion for singing, or my love for dance, and honestly, he deserves to rot with those soulless monsters in their demon realm of fire—”

Rumi tried not to flinch at the harshness of Mira’s words, especially directed at demons, but Mira caught it anyway. Her expression shifted instantly.

“Shit, Rumi, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Rumi insisted quickly, even as something deep within her twisted at the phrase soulless monsters.

“It isn’t. I don’t mean it, really. I just… my head’s a mess right now,” Mira sighed, the frustration and exhaustion suddenly becoming clear to Rumi.

“How did you even find out?” Rumi asked, her curiosity once again piqued.

“My brother, the asshole he is, messaged me about it. Because god forbid either of my parents inform me of such trivial information,” Mira said with a shrug that did nothing to hide how she truly felt.

“I’m sorry, Mira, truly.” Rumi expressed, and she truly meant it.

Regardless of Mira’s situation with her parents, no child should have to experience that kind of loss. The kind that leaves a person hollow from the absence of a bond they didn’t even know they needed, didn’t even want, but somehow craved all the same.

“Yeah, well,” Mira brushed off, whatever brief vulnerability she’d been willing to show now buried beneath her usual nonchalant demeanour, “I have to go home. Not because I want to, or because I owe that asshole anything, but because…”

“Because it feels right,” Zoey finished gently, locking eyes with her.

The look she gave Mira spoke volumes; that she understood the emotional toll, the weight of doing the right thing even when it hurt. And that she’d be there through all of it, no matter how messy it got.

Rumi hated how, despite everything they’d been through together as a trio, and how close they’d all become recently, she still felt isolated from the two of them. Years of forcing herself to keep a distance to hide her marks, had led to this: Zoey and Mira sharing a closeness she couldn’t quite reach. She could try her hardest to emulate it, to mirror their emotional bond, but deep down she lacked the conviction, or the experience, to fully commit to it.

“So, home for me equals—”

“—hiatus for Huntrix, yeah. I think I’m all caught up,” Rumi finished, pushing down the tangle of negative emotions swirling within her.

One of her closest friends was grappling with something far worse than anything she was dealing with. This wasn’t the time to be jealous of their bond, or to acknowledge the quiet ache in her chest that seemed to grow deeper and wearier with each passing day.

“It’ll be good for us. We deserve a proper break after everything we went through with Gwi-Ma and the Saja Boys! Not a half-assed one this time — a real, proper, indefinite break,” Zoey smiled, trying to inject a little light into the darkness that had settled over the room. “I might even go back to America for a bit, y’know. Reconnect with my time there, see some old friends, get inspired for new music.”

“Ah, so while I’m unplugging the life support on my wonderful father, you’ll be frolicking on the beaches of California with hot American beach boys?” Mira huffed, but there was a tilt to her mouth and a lilt in her voice that suggested she was at least a little amused.

As the pair dove headfirst into chatter about the States, relaxing, and spending time away from Seoul, Rumi did her best to contribute.

She plastered on a smile, just as she’d done a hundred times before, all while ignoring the sinking feeling in her gut and the quiet, shaken voice inside her head that whispered in a tone that sounded exactly like her own, as close as it had been in a long time:

You’re going to be all alone again.

She tried to laugh off the sinister voice in her head, the growing ache inside her chest, savour what might be the last night they’d spend like this for a long while: relaxed, carefree, united.

It would be good for her to have some prolonged time by herself, to figure out what was really going on inside, to sort through all the thoughts, feelings, and emotions that had been lingering since their victory against the Demon King.

It was all going to be okay, Rumi assured herself, even as a quiet unease settled deep inside her bones, as if it planned to make its home there.

Everything was going to be fine.

Chapter Text

There was something about airports that rubbed Rumi the wrong way.

Maybe it was the overwhelming crush of people, hundreds of strangers zigzagging between one another like ants on a mission, each chasing a destination only they understood. Or perhaps it was the strange, liminal atmosphere, where time zones clashed and no one truly belonged. Everyone was in transit. Everyone was temporary.

But if she was being honest, it was probably the chaos; the sheer, frenzied energy of those who didn’t plan ahead, didn’t give themselves enough time to get through security, and inevitably turned their journey into a disaster.

Which, of course, was exactly what was happening now.

The trio tore through Incheon International Airport, weaving through crowds with the kind of grace that came not just from their years performing on stage , but from countless battles against demons. Dodging a businessman's suitcase or sidestepping a toddler’s erratic lunge wasn’t so different from evading clawed hands and cursed weapons.

The airport had become a battleground of its own: the mission was clear, the clock was ticking, and every slow-walking tourist or snack-laden stroller was an enemy to be outmanoeuvred.

“I can’t believe you read your departure time wrong!” Mira groaned, effortlessly swerving around a family of six — four of whom were screaming, sticky-handed children.

“It’s not my fault!” Zoey whined, panting as she sprinted behind her, dodging a rogue neck pillow dangling from someone’s backpack like it was a low-swinging demon’s tail.

“Zoey,” Rumi called from the front of their formation, her voice half-laugh, half-exasperation, “on this very rare occasion, I would say this is exactly your fault!”

She pushed forward, her eyes locking on the security gate ahead like a beacon on the battlefield.

“I can see it! Just a little further , we’ve got this!”

But just as victory was nearly within reach, the glowing arch of the security gate just metres away, disaster struck.

Zoey clipped the edge of a rolling suitcase that came out of nowhere, sent sailing by a frantic traveller in an oversized sunhat. With a yelp, she went down hard, sprawling across the polished airport floor like she’d just been knocked backwards by a demon blast.

“Go on without me!” Zoey cried, flinging out an arm with unnecessary dramatic flair. “Save yourselves!”

Time slowed.

A gasp echoed in Rumi’s chest as she skidded to a halt. Mira stopped two steps behind her, eyes wide in disbelief; not because Zoey had fallen, but because of how loudly she was choosing to suffer.

Rumi turned, panting, strands of hair stuck to her forehead. “We can’t go on without you, this is your flight we’re running for!”

Mira raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, Zoey?”

Zoey groaned, rolling onto her back like a wounded soldier. “Tell my fans I love them…”

“Get up!” both girls snapped in unison.

Without missing another beat, they were back in motion. Rumi reached down, grabbing Zoey’s outstretched arm like she was yanking her from a pit of cursed shadows. Mira looped her own arm under Zoey’s other shoulder, hoisting her upright with all the strength of a seasoned demon hunter hauling a fallen comrade off the battlefield.

“This is nothing compared to the Gwi-Ma fight,” Mira muttered as they charged forward again.

“But definitely more dangerous,” Rumi added, as a baby in a pram nearly took out her shin.

Together, the trio sprinted toward the gate, a unified front once more — bruised, breathless, but unbroken. And in that moment, the airport wasn’t just a chaotic mess of terminals and travellers.

It was a warzone. And they were warriors.

…Warriors who, according to the gate attendant, were still twelve minutes early.

The three of them stood there, panting, flushed, and blinking in disbelief as the attendant barely looked up from her scanner.

“Boarding hasn’t even started yet,” she added flatly, gesturing toward the empty seating area nearby.

Zoey collapsed onto the nearest bench, dramatically flinging her arm across her eyes. “I almost died for nothing.”

“You tripped on a rogue suitcase,”” Mira deadpanned, pulling a bottle of water from her bag and tossing it at her. “You were down for all of six seconds.”

“That’s six seconds longer than anyone should be on the floor of an international airport,” Rumi added, wrinkling her nose as she wiped sweat from her brow. “I’m burning this outfit.”

An outfit that, like the rest of them, was inconspicuous enough to hide their identities. After all, there was no greater place to be accidentally mobbed by fans than one of Korea’s busiest airports.

Oversized hoodies, baseball caps, sunglasses that covered half their faces; the unofficial uniform of idols trying not to be recognised. Rumi’s hoodie was pulled so far over her head she could barely see properly, and Mira had gone as far as swapping her usual bold lipstick for a plain face mask. Even Zoey had forgone her signature glitter eyeliner, which was basically an act of war.

Still, none of them were foolish enough to believe they were completely unrecognisable. A poorly timed head tilt or a glimpse of Rumi’s demon marks could give them away in an instant, especially with how fast airport sightings spread online.

“That suitcase came at me with intent,” Zoey insisted, rubbing her shin. “It was rolling full speed. I swear it had bloodlust.”

“It bumped your ankle,” Rumi muttered, collapsing onto the bench beside her. “Barely even left a mark.”

“It bruised my spirit,” Zoey whined, draping an arm over her face.

Mira finally sat down too, shaking her head with the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re lucky I didn’t record it.”

Zoey peeked at them from under her arm. “You’ll remember me as a hero, right?”

“You’ll be remembered as the reason we all now smell like stress,” Mira said, rolling her eyes but letting a fond smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

As they caught their breath, the earlier adrenaline began to slip away, replaced by something heavier. The kind of silence that came when laughter faded but no one quite knew what to say.

Rumi glanced between them. Within the next day, both would be gone — Zoey flying off to America for a few months, and Mira flying to visit her dad, who was seriously ill and staying in a hospital far enough away that the trip had no fixed return date.

And she would be the only one left in Seoul.

“You’re both abandoning me,” Rumi said lightly, forcing a playful tone. “I should fake a comeback announcement just to ground you.”

Zoey leaned into her with a grin, her sunglasses sliding slightly down her nose. “You’ll miss me the most.”

“I already do,” Rumi replied, this time without pretending.

Mira looked over, her voice calm but certain. “You’ll be fine, Rumi. You’ve got the Bobby and the team. The city. Celine. Us, just one call away.”

The pang that shot through Rumi at the mention of Celine’s name vibrated through her bones, sharp and splintering, as if every part of her was fracturing at once.

Of course, she had Celine.

Celine, who could barely stand to be in the same room with her ever since Rumi had practically begged her to end it all. Celine, who could hardly look at her now that she was openly embracing her demon marks.

Rumi would rather stew alone in her own misery than try to conform to the version of herself Celine clearly still wanted her to be.

She hadn’t shared the details of that situation with either Mira or Zoey. They didn’t need to know. To them, Celine was a role model; a surrogate parental figure in the absence of their own families, someone steady and strong when the world felt uncertain. Rumi couldn’t bear to be the one who shattered that image for them. So, she’d chosen to keep that particular pain to herself.

Rumi didn’t answer Mira right away. Instead, she just smiled and nodded, offering reassurance to her friends; her eyes focused on the quiet motion of people boarding other flights.

The crowd moved around them like ocean currents, swirling and shifting and carrying people off to new destinations. But she — she would remain still.

Still, she smiled for them.

Because even hunters knew how to mask a wound.

~

Given the nature of the industry they were in, the announcement of the Huntrix hiatus had gone surprisingly well. Of course, there was the usual swirl of online speculation, questions about internal drama, health issues, contract disputes, but that was to be expected.

In the world of idols, even silence sparked rumours.

Thankfully, the group’s carefully worded statement and years of goodwill with fans had softened the blow. Most supporters were understanding, expressing concern and encouragement rather than outrage. Still, Rumi couldn’t help but feel the weight of it all; the uncertainty, the eyes watching, the pressure to maintain a perfect image, even in the face of personal chaos.

So, with everything professionally taken care of, Rumi made a quiet vow to herself: she would use this hiatus to rest, recover, and try, really try, to relax. To figure out what was going on with her emotions, to finally process everything that had happened with Gwi-Ma.

Maybe she’d take up meditation. Start a new podcast. Or fully embrace the art of couch-rotting, something Mira and Zoey had always raved about during their rare moments of downtime.

The relaxation possibilities were endless — and Rumi had been determined to give it her all.

At least, that had been the plan.

It had been somewhat enjoyable at first: bingeing trashy K-dramas, devouring more ramen than her body could reasonably handle, and doom-scrolling through social media with the kind of dedication usually reserved for research or battle strategy.

But the novelty wore off fast. The dramas grew stale, their plots repetitive. The couples took forever to get together — except when they didn’t, and suddenly they were kissing in the rain like it was episode two. It wasn’t because watching everyone fall in love while she was alone made that hollow space in her chest ache just a little sharper. Definitely not.

Though… she couldn’t ignore that something about those dramas did keep her coming back. There was a pull to them, a strange sense of emotional gravity; like the enjoyment wasn’t entirely her own, like someone else inside her was clinging to every charged glance and yearning monologue.

What was with her lately? Her emotions had been all over the place — unpredictable, contradictory, nothing like the solid, grounded self she’d always prided herself on being.

Something inside her was shifting. And she didn’t know why. Or who she was becoming.

And so, her battle strategy shifted from full-scale couch-bound rot to a more refined form of relaxation.

She began spending ample time at the local bathhouse. Enough that the owners started recognising her on sight, greeting her with warm smiles and ensuring a private bath was always ready during her now-routine visits. It had become a kind of sanctuary. One she hadn’t realised she needed until the steam first kissed her skin and coaxed the tension from her bones.

There was something sacred about sinking into that deep, stone-lined tub, the water fragrant with yuzu or green tea or crushed rose petals, depending on the day. The air hung thick with steam, curling like ghosts around her face, making the world outside feel a little softer, a little farther away.

Rumi would let herself stew, limbs heavy and boneless, the warmth seeping deep into muscles that ached more than she cared to admit. Some from training. Some from tension. Some from things she couldn’t name. She’d lean her head back against the tiled wall, eyes slipping shut as her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind.

And it had been great — for a time.

The heat, the solitude, the gentle rituals of soaking and steaming had dulled the edges of her restlessness, taking the sharpness off her thoughts like a whetstone in reverse. But even that sense of peace slipped through her like water droplets between her fingers; impossible to hold, no matter how tightly she tried.

As the weeks dragged on, no amount of hot water or herbal tea or hours of scrolling could still her mind. The moment she let her guard down, her thoughts rose up to meet her, uninvited and merciless. Memory after memory surged forward, jagged and unrelenting, forcing her to relive things she was trying desperately to forget.

She hated how she would crawl into bed each night, her body slack and pliant from hours of intentional rest, only to find her thoughts writhing like storm currents the moment her head hit the pillow. Tossing. Turning. Clutching her blanket like it might anchor her in reality.

Golden brown eyes, soft, sorrowful, and all-consuming, haunted her in the dark. So did the memory of sharp, elegant features and that low, melodic voice that seemed to echo through her every quiet moment. Even when sleep did find her, rare, reluctant, and ragged, it brought no relief.

Only him. Always him.

A shadow behind her eyelids.

A flicker in her dreams.

A presence she couldn’t shake, no matter how far she sank beneath the water or how fiercely she tried to forget.

That’s when the plan shifted from relaxation to resurgence. She would sharpen herself back into something unshakeable.

Clearly, her thoughts were too loud for the quiet of relaxation to silence. Whatever storm was brewing inside her , whatever tide was pulling her relentlessly from one current to the next, Rumi was determined to face it head-on. She had never overcome anything by resting. That had never been her way.

So, she re-devoted herself to hunter training.

Days and weeks blurred together in the home gym, her body a vessel for her discipline. She worked herself to the edge, until her bones felt forged from steel and her muscles like jelly, trembling with exhaustion but carved with purpose. Sweat soaked through her clothes like a second skin, her limbs aching in that familiar, grounding way that reminded her she was still here. Still fighting. Still standing.

Increased patrols filled her nights; hours spent leaping from rooftop to rooftop beneath the moonlight, ensuring the Honmoon remained strong. The few demons who still dared to slip into their realm were swiftly dealt with, their presence vanishing like smoke before her magical blade.

She told herself it was necessary. That she was protecting her world. But with each one she struck down; a hollow pang echoed inside her. A quiet, shameful doubt she couldn’t silence.

What if these weren’t enemies? What if they were just lost, curious, perhaps, drawn to a world bursting with colour and light, so unlike the one they’d come from?

A world Rumi knew almost nothing about.

Everything she’d learned of the demon realm came from Celine, and even that knowledge, she was beginning to question. How many of those stories had been chosen carefully? Softened, twisted, designed to keep her scared, obedient, and ashamed of the blood in her veins?

She found herself wondering what it was truly like, the place she was supposed to fear.

He had spoken of it, briefly. Of its harshness. Of the cruelty that festered under Gwi-Ma’s reign. But Gwi-Ma was gone now. Rumi had helped make sure of that. And she couldn’t help but wonder how the demon world had changed in his absence.

Was there peace now? Were there demons free to live without fear, without violence? Had the darkness loosened its grip?

She wished she’d asked him more. About the realm. About himself. About everything.

But it was too late now.

Or at least… it felt that way.

And it was after weeks of restless thoughts, of catching glimpses of him in places she knew he couldn’t possibly be, that Rumi finally hit her breaking point.

That’s how, on a crisp autumn night, weeks into her failed relaxation mission and the punishing training and patrol regimen that had followed, she found herself back at their place.

The old hanok rooftops rose around her like a memory, steeped in stillness. Tiled in dark grey, the rooftops curved gently upward, layered like fish scales that caught the moonlight in soft, silvery glints. Sweeping eaves arched toward the sky like wings about to take flight. Lanterns hung quietly from wooden beams, casting warm, flickering halos across the cobbled street below, as though the world had momentarily forgotten how to rush.

She perched on the rooftop where they had first met in secret. Where she had sliced through a manikin dressed like him with the fury of someone not yet sure whether they wanted to kill or understand.

This was where it had started. Whatever it had been.

Where she had allowed herself to be undone by him — by his voice, his face, the way he spoke her fears aloud before she could name them herself. He’d used her insecurities like tools, manipulating her emotions with a subtlety she hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

And yet, despite knowing all that…

She had welcomed it.

Because for the first time in her life, someone had seen what she was, what she really was, and hadn’t turned away. He hadn’t flinched at her demon markings or the confusion that knotted her identity. He had stood there, with that maddening calm, and offered a mirror she hadn’t been brave enough to look into alone.

Maybe it had all been lies. Maybe everything between them had been a game. But he had helped her bridge the gap she’d spent a lifetime staring across. And no amount of betrayal could erase that.

It wasn’t all lies…

Rumi shook her head, trying to push the sound of his voice out of her mind. That voice that still flowed through her thoughts with such ease, like a memory too vivid to fade. It whispered through her as though he were standing right behind her, speaking directly into her soul.

But that was impossible.

He was gone. She’d watched him disappear right before her eyes — right after he had sacrificed himself for her. All so they could win.

She barely had time to spiral further before a loud crash split the silence behind her.

Reflex took over.

In an instant, Rumi was on her feet, her blade of radiant light summoned into her hand with a snap of energy. She dropped down from the rooftop, landing softly on the cobbled street below, every movement smooth and controlled, a hunter returning to instinct.

Her steps were slow, deliberate, each one echoing with tension as she moved toward the source of the noise. Something prickled at the back of her neck; that unmistakable sense of being watched. The air was too still, too charged. Someone was there.

She narrowed her eyes, surveying the shadows around her, the lanterns swaying slightly in the breeze, casting long shapes along the walls.

“Whoever you are…” she called out, her voice low, steady, and laced with warning, “you might as well show yourself now.”

She lifted her blade slightly, its glow catching on the old stone walls.

A potted plant, fallen and cracked on the ground, soil spilling from its shattered edges, the plant within lying limp on its side amongst the wreckage.

And behind said plant, sat a familiar cat-like creature.

Its fur shimmered in a rich shade of periwinkle, laced with dark tiger-like stripes that curled like ink in water. Its oversized eyes gleamed with a chaotic energy, a hypnotic swirl of pink and orange, both practically glowing with mischief. A too-wide grin revealed a terrifying set of razor-sharp fangs, its open mouth lined with teeth far too numerous for comfort. Despite its squat, plush form and comically large paws, there was something distinctly otherworldly about it, the kind of unsettling charm that hovered between adorable and mildly demonic.

Perched comfortably atop its head was a second, familiar, bird-like creature, smaller and upright. Cloaked almost entirely in inky black feathers so smooth they almost appeared polished. It wore a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over its face, casting a shadow that only made its piercing amber eyes glow brighter beneath. Its beak was long and curved like an old-world plague doctor’s mask, giving it an unsettling air of wisdom, or perhaps mischief. Two additional sets of glowing eyes gazed at her, stacked one atop the other, as though it could see through more than just the physical.

Tiger and Crow, before her in the flesh.

Both of them blinked at her in sync.

Chapter Text

The flicker of hope nestled in Rumi’s chest flared so suddenly, so violently, it felt like her heart might combust; not with pain, but with something far more dangerous: longing. It burned behind her ribs like a flare signal in the dark.

Because there they were.

Staring back at her with those strange, glowing, mystic eyes. Some of the last fragments of him. The tiger-like creature and the ominous bird perched atop its head, both watching her with the same quiet intensity he once had. As if nothing had changed. As if her presence here was expected. As if they’d simply been waiting for her to come back.

Rumi couldn’t help herself. A laugh erupted from her chest; bright, breathless, and teetering on the edge of manic. A laugh that sounded like disbelief dressed in joy, wrapped in grief.

It was too much, too strange, too perfect.

She pressed a hand to her heart, trying to quiet the tremor inside her.

“Of course,” she whispered, breathless, her voice shaking. “Of course it would be you two.”

In response, Tiger simply tilted his oversized head, tongue lolling lazily from the corner of his wide, Cheshire-like grin. His eyes, wild and gleaming, blinked at her slowly, as if he didn’t have a single thought behind them. Rumi half-expected to see a letter balanced on his tongue. And for one irrational heartbeat, she let herself believe it would be there.

It wasn’t.

Of course it wouldn’t be. That would’ve been too easy.

Yet there was an undeniable feeling that bloomed in her chest at the sight of the two. Something warm. Something familiar. Something that felt like coming home. Like pieces of herself, scattered and forgotten, had finally found their way back.

And once again, Rumi found herself confused by the intensity of it. It wasn’t that she was delusional, she knew she didn’t feel this strongly about the creatures themselves. She’d enjoyed their company before, sure, and the strange form of communication they’d offered her had once served as a fragile bridge between her and him.

But this? This swelling, aching feeling inside her didn’t feel entirely her own. It felt too big. Too heavy. Too deeply rooted in something more.

And before her mind could catch up with her heart, Rumi found her hand reaching forward, hesitant, but certain, as though guided by some external force, toward Tiger.

The creature didn’t hesitate. With a giddy squeal and a thump of oversized paws, Tiger bounded forward, nuzzling eagerly into her touch.

“I guess you guys got lucky, being on this side of the Honmoon after the concert?” Rumi mused aloud, not feeling the least bit embarrassed to be talking to creatures who couldn’t technically talk back.

Tiger’s fur was soft beneath her fingertips, almost velvety, the kind of texture that made her want to keep her hand there forever. A low, deep purr thrummed from his chest as she scratched gently under his chin. Encouraged, she let her fingers trail along the side of his cheek, and Tiger responded with a delighted chuff, one of his back legs kicking rhythmically against the ground in approval.

She blinked. That was… new.

She’d never pet him like this before. Usually, it was a scratch behind the ears, or a casual stroke along his spine. She’d always avoided his face, mostly because of the rows of gleaming, too-large teeth that jutted from his mouth like they were built for nightmares, gleaming like polished knives. But now, her hand had moved instinctively, as if it knew.

As if she knew.

How?

The thought tugged at her, unsettling and strange. She couldn’t remember him reacting like this to her attention before. But Tiger melted beneath her touch like he’d been waiting for it, like this was something familiar. Something routine. That little spot beneath his cheek, the one that made his leg thump uncontrollably and his mouth stretch into an even wider grin, felt like a secret she shouldn’t know.

A secret she’d never been told… but had somehow always carried.

Rumi frowned slightly, her fingers slowing.

She didn’t understand it, this gentle certainty, this quiet knowing of things she’d never experienced. Things she couldn’t possibly have lived through.

It was like she’d uncovered a memory that wasn’t hers… but also was. Like her body remembered something her mind couldn’t yet piece together.

But that would be impossible. Wouldn’t it?

Before she could spiral deeper into the ever-growing tangle of questions, the kind that had been plaguing her mind more and more lately, something shifted.

A disturbance.

She felt it before she saw it. A subtle tear in the Honmoon, faint and delicate, like someone slowly tapping a chisel against glass. A crack, barely there… but a crack nonetheless.

Her body moved on instinct, withdrawing slightly from Tiger as she turned to scan the city. From their raised perch, the skyline stretched before her. A glittering ocean of lights that shimmered like stars scattered across the earth. That view had always been their favourite part of this spot — both hers and his. It gave them perspective, a feeling of smallness, of clarity.

And then she saw it.

A flicker in the distance, the usually bluish glow of the Honmoon warping into a dark, purplish red. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat where there shouldn’t be one. It was close. Too close.

A hunter’s work was truly never done.

With a quiet sigh, Rumi began to lift her hand, already preparing to step away. But the moment she tried to pull back, Tiger gave a soft, mournful whine and shoved his massive head back into her palm.

Rumi couldn’t help the gentle laugh that escaped her, fond and slightly exasperated. Even as her instincts kicked into gear, urging her to move, to act, she found herself lingering a second longer. There was something comforting about their presence, something that eased the ache in her chest, even if only for a moment.

She didn’t want to leave them. Not yet. But she had a duty to fulfil.

“I’ll be back soon,” she murmured, running her fingers through Tiger’s soft fur one last time. “Be good, you two.”

With a reluctant breath, she stepped away and began her descent.

Only… it wasn’t that simple.

Because the second her shoes hit the street below, she heard it, the soft, unmistakable sound of paws padding after her. Steady. Unhurried. Deliberate.

Rumi didn’t even need to look over her shoulder.

Of course they were following her.

“No, no, you guys need to stay here!” Rumi insisted, putting her hands up in front of her like a barrier, as if her words could somehow stop their steady advance.

Tiger paused, blinking up at her with those wide, glowing eyes, his head tilted to the side in confusion, tongue still flopped lazily out the side of his oversized mouth. Crow, still atop Tiger’s head, let out a sharp caw, ruffling its feathers in indignation, as if offended by the very suggestion of being left behind.

“I’m serious!” she said, taking a step back. “This might be dangerous. I don’t know what kind of demon is coming through that crack. I don’t even know if I’m dealing with just one.”

Tiger took a step forward.

Rumi pointed at him. “Don’t you dare.”

Another step. Then another.

“Oh come on,” she groaned, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Why are you like this?”

She wasn’t even sure who she was talking to anymore, the creatures or the ghost of the bond they clearly still shared with him. That same bond that tugged at her chest, soft and persistent, like a thread she couldn’t see but couldn’t unfeel.

Crow cawed again, hopping from Tiger’s head onto her shoulder in a single, feather-light leap.

“Well, I guess that settles it,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

She looked at Tiger, who sat down with a thump, tail swishing confidently behind him like he’d already won.

“This isn’t a buddy mission, you two,” she warned half-heartedly. “But… I guess if you're going to follow me anyway, you might as well keep up.”

Tiger let out a low huff, smug, victorious, and Crow gave her hair an encouraging nip.

Rumi sighed, resigned. “Great. Now I’m the emotionally unstable demon hunter with two magical pets and a possible delusion. Totally normal.”

With that, she turned and broke into a run, the soft rhythm of paws and flapping wings right behind her.

~

The breach had manifested in a quiet city park. One of those open, grassy pockets tucked between rows of apartment buildings and winding streets. Conveniently, it was empty at this hour, the lateness of the night having long since driven people indoors. Only the occasional streetlamp flickered in the distance, casting eerie shadows that stretched and twisted across the paved paths like reaching fingers.

Rumi moved carefully, her senses on high alert. Her steps were measured, quiet, her weight balanced just right, years of demon hunting turning even a casual stroll into a silent patrol. She let her eyes scan the tree line, the swing set, the bushes that rustled a little too deliberately in the breeze.

Her hand hovered near her waist, ready to summon her blade at the first sign of danger.

Tiger padded beside her, surprisingly quiet for such a large creature, while the bird circled silently overhead, its silhouette briefly blotting out the moon as it soared.

Something was close. She could feel it, a subtle shift in the air pressure, the way the breeze slowed like it, too, was holding its breath. Her magic prickled beneath her skin, the same way it always did when a demon was near. That now-familiar tightness curled in her chest, equal parts anticipation and dread.

She paused by a fountain at the centre of the park; cracked, unused, the water still and dark.

That’s when she heard it.

A whisper.

Low. Garbled. Like words being spoken underwater.

She turned slowly, muscles tensing, and narrowed her eyes into the shadows.

The whisper came again. Wetter this time, like it was seeping up from the cracks in the earth. Rumi stepped closer to the edge of the fountain, her fingers flexing, ready to summon her blade at a moment’s notice.

A slow ripple danced across the surface of the stagnant water. Then another. And another, until the centre began to bubble, dark and thick like tar. Rumi braced herself, legs shifting into a defensive stance.

From the depths, something began to rise.

It moved slowly, almost tentatively, water sloshing over the fountain’s edge in lazy rivulets. A shape formed, humanoid in figure, but only barely. Its body glistened like wet stone, patches of translucent skin revealing the murky swirl of water beneath. Its hair hung long and dripping over its face, and its eyes, wide, glassy, uncertain, locked onto hers.

It was… trembling.

“Please…” it croaked, voice fractured like a shattered bottle. “Where… where am I?”

Rumi didn’t move. Her heart pounded like a war drum against her ribs, but her blade remained unformed at her side.

“Are you… hurt?” she asked warily, taking half a step forward.

The creature flinched, folding in on itself. “I didn’t mean to… I don’t know how I crossed. I—I was just trying to get away.”

Rumi’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t attack.

Something inside her, something she didn’t like to name, stopped her. That same gnawing doubt she'd been battling for weeks now.

What if they weren’t all evil? What if there were demons that didn’t want to fight?

She glanced briefly at Tiger, who had stopped a few paces behind her. His glowing eyes were focused, but he made no move. No growl. No warning. Even Crow had gone still.

Rumi slowly lowered her hands.

“Okay,” she said softly, cautiously. “I can try to help you, but only if you mean no harm. Do you understand?”

The demon nodded shakily, taking one small step forward. “Thank you… I just… I just need—”

But then its voice shifted, twisted into something deeper, crueller.

“—you to be stupid enough to fall for that.”

Its form exploded in a burst of black water, tendrils lashing out like whips, fast and violent.

Rumi summoned her blade just in time to block one strike, but not the second. It slammed into her side, sending her skidding across the wet concrete. Her ribs screamed in protest. She barely had time to roll before another tendril crashed into the spot where she’d just been.

Coughing, Rumi scrambled to her feet, but she was already soaked, her footing unstable. The demon’s shape was no longer frail and trembling, it loomed tall now, its watery form more monstrous, jagged, dripping with malevolence. It hissed, revealing rows of needle-like teeth.

Then it grinned.

“We’ve heard about you, you know,” it sneered. “The half-demon hunter who defeated Gwi-Ma. You’re a bit of a legend.”

A watery tendril lashed out and caught her across the ribs, sending Rumi reeling backwards.

“They’ve all gone, haven’t they? Left you to patch up the cracks. Left you to feel things you don’t know how to explain.”

Rumi swung. The blade cut through one of its tendrils, but two more struck in response, slamming her back to the ground.

“You don’t belong to them. You never did,” the demon sneered, leaning close. “Half-demon, half-hunter… whole nothing.”

Rumi gritted her teeth. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, but I do. I know you hesitate. I know you wonder. And I know you’re scared you’ll never stop feeling this… wrongness inside you.”

It struck again, harder.

Rumi fought back, slashing, spinning, dodging, but she was off-balance, rattled. Her heart wasn’t in it. Somewhere deep down, she was still mourning the possibility that it could have been telling the truth. That maybe it had wanted help.

But it hadn’t.

And that hesitation cost her.

A tendril caught her leg, yanking her off her feet. Her back slammed against the side of the fountain with a crack, and her blade clattered to the ground, before flickering out completely.

Pain seared through her chest as she struggled to breathe.

The demon towered over her now, smug and snarling.

“So much for the famous Rumi,” it sneered, circling her like a predator that knew its prey was already cornered. “You hunters really are getting soft. It’s almost like they wanted you to be helpless.”

She tried to summon her blade again, but her magic felt sluggish, her limbs heavy, vision doubling.

The demon’s words oozed like venom, and Rumi could feel the weight behind them, not just taunts, but thick, festering truths carved out of years of pain and bitterness. Its malice hung in the air like humidity before a monsoon. And it wasn’t just its voice, it was the echo of countless others, twisted and warped, as if the creature carried generations of resentment in its watery core.

You’re nothing.

Alone.

Abandoned.

Rumi's chest heaved as she tried to force herself upright, but her limbs wouldn't move. It wasn’t just the pain. It was the weight. The unbearable pressure of everything it said, or maybe everything she feared was true.

They left you.

You were never really one of them.

You let him die.

That last thought struck like a hammer to her ribs.

Her vision blurred as the demon's shadow towered above her, and for a moment, she welcomed the pull of the darkness washing over her. It would be easier to let it win. Easier to stop fighting. Easier to disappear.

Then—

“Get up.”

The voice wasn’t hers. It wasn’t the demons. It was clear, firm, and low, threaded with warmth and a note of gentle urgency.

“You’re stronger than this, Rumi. Get up.”

She’d heard that voice before, countless times. In dreams that left her aching, in half-awake moments where she swore that she could feel him beside her. Whispered into the corners of her mind like echoes from a world she couldn’t reach.

It was his voice.

But she’d always told herself it wasn’t real.

Just grief, messing with her head. Hallucinations built from memory and longing; the cruel tricks of a heart that hadn’t learned how to let go.

But this?

This didn’t feel like a fading echo. This didn’t feel imagined. It was sharp. Certain. Alive.

It cut through the fog of her despair like moonlight breaking through thunderclouds, undeniable and real in a way that made her chest tighten.

“You don't let your fear win. Not now.”

Her fingers twitched against the stone.

Then, from the shadows—

Tiger leapt.

A blur of grey fur and stripes, teeth bared, his body moved like a flash of lightning made flesh. He collided with the demon mid-sneer, snarling, his huge frame pushing the creature back from Rumi’s slumped form. The demon screeched in surprise as Tiger dug his claws in and roared with primal fury.

A beat later, Crow dove from above, a streak of midnight and snowy feathers. His talons raked across the demon’s face, each strike shimmering with a strange, ancient energy that caused the demon’s watery form to ripple with pain.

Rumi’s body stirred.

She watched them fight for her, those two strange companions who shouldn’t have been here. Who were here. Defending her like it was the most natural thing in the world. And as they moved, as the demon reeled from their combined assault, his voice came again, softer this time, yet unwavering.

“Now, Rumi. Finish this.”

A flicker of power surged through her chest, warmth blooming beneath the skin, spreading into her limbs like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

Her magic flared to life.

With a sudden, fierce clarity, Rumi pushed herself off the ground, golden light radiating from her fingertips as her blade of energy surged back into being with a thunderous crackle.

The demon turned just as her boots hit the ground. Its eyes widened, as though it recognised the change.

Too late.

Rumi lunged forward, blade slashing clean through a rising tendril, the light sizzling and hissing as it cut through the corrupted water.

“You should’ve finished me when you had the chance,” she growled, her voice steady now, her stance unshakable.

The demon recovered quickly, coiling back with a gurgled snarl, its liquid body reforming into something sharper, faster, angrier. It surged at her, tendrils of dark water lashing out like whips, slicing through the air with brutal intent.

Rumi ducked the first strike, deflected the second, but the third was coming straight for her chest.

Too fast.

Then—

Smoke.

A sharp crack and a burst of red-violet mist exploded around her, and she vanished. In the blink of an eye, she was gone, only to reappear behind the demon in a swirl of smoke the colour of bruised twilight, her blade already mid-swing.

The demon barely had time to turn before she struck.

A searing arc of golden light carved through its chest, and the creature let out a hollow, shuddering scream as its form began to dissolve, crumpling in on itself like water draining into an invisible sink.

It collapsed to its knees, twitching, barely clinging to shape. Its head lifted just slightly, eyes flickering with what little strength remained.

“More… will come…” it rasped. “You’re… not the only one they’ve heard about…”

And then it was gone; its form breaking apart into a puddle of dark water that quickly hissed into nothing against the pavement.

Silence fell over the park, broken only by the soft pant of Rumi’s breathing.

She stood frozen, staring at the empty space where the demon had just been. Her sword vanished from her hand with a pulse of light, but her body remained tense. Her heart pounded like a drum in her ears.

She looked down at the ground where she’d just stood. Wisps of red-violet smoke still curled upward, glowing faintly in the night air like embers from an unfamiliar fire.

The same red mist used by demons. By the Saja Boys. By him.

Her breath caught in her throat. She’d witnessed it before, dozens of times in battle, in training, in dreams. The way he had vanished, the way they had travelled between realms, slipped from danger, attacked without warning.

But now, it was her.

She had used it. Without thinking. Instinctively. Just like she had on the darkest night of her life.

When she’d stood distorted  and broken before Celine. When the shame of what she was, what she feared she might become, had drowned her. When the weight of her demon blood, the corruption in her veins, the grief of everything she’d lost had driven her to beg Celine to end her misery.  To kill her, before she could become the monster she feared she was.

And Celine had refused.

That was the first time it had happened. When her soul had fractured under the pressure of despair, and her body had instinctively pulled her away, vanishing in that same red-violet smoke.

And now, here it was again. Not born of despair this time, but something else entirely. Something within her. Something she hadn’t learned… but had always known.

The realisation sent a ripple through her. A chill slipped down her spine.

“What are you becoming, Rumi…” she murmured, eyes fixed on the swirling remnants of mist at her feet.

From behind her, Tiger padded forward, bumping his large head gently into her hip, a low whine humming in his throat. Crow fluttered down beside them, his wings giving one soft beat before he perched, eyes glowing like moonlit embers.

Rumi didn’t move.

She stood between them, the demon’s last words echoing inside her like a curse:

More will come…

And in the quiet that followed, she couldn’t decide what unnerved her more: the monsters coming for her, the power now waking up inside her to face them… or the fact that she had heard his voice, clear as day, whispering in her mind, as though he’d never left her at all.

Chapter Text

The next few days passed with relative ease, at least when it came to Honmoon breaches. No new demons had tried to force their way through, and while that should have been a relief, Rumi couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a warning. A silence like that often came before something worse, the kind of calm that felt too still, too meditative.

But while the city remained quiet, Rumi’s mind was anything but.

Her thoughts churned endlessly, looping through the fight, the red-violet smoke, and most of all, that voice.

His voice; as clear and cutting as a blade, as if it had been whispered directly into her soul. She hadn’t heard it since, but that didn’t do much to put her mind at ease.

She hadn’t told anyone. Not Zoey. Not Mira. Definitely not Celine. How could she, when she didn’t even understand it herself?

Was she losing her grip on reality?

Or worse, was she finally waking up to it?

Days had passed with Rumi holed up in their apartment. The empty, lonely, deserted apartment that felt like it had been drained of all warmth and energy the moment Mira and Zoey left. Without their laughter echoing through the hallways, without the late-night takeout runs and impromptu dance battles in the kitchen, the space felt hollow. Like a stage after the curtain had fallen. All the lights still on… but no one left to perform.

Though, Rumi supposed she wasn’t entirely alone.

Looking over from her position on the bed, where she’d spent most of the past few days aimlessly staring at the ceiling as her thoughts churned, Rumi’s eyes drifted to her new companions.

Tiger and Crow.

For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, the two creatures had barely left her side since the fight with the water demon. They’d more or less moved in, claiming the apartment as their own. Tiger had taken to sprawling across her bedroom floor like a living rug, snoring gently with his limbs splayed in all directions. Crow, on the other hand, preferred to perch near the window, watching the city below with an unnerving stillness, as if on constant watch.

They crept around the apartment like they belonged there, and somehow, Rumi didn’t mind. Their quiet presence filled a space that had felt unbearably empty. A soft padding of paws in the hallway, the occasional caw or low purr… it was more comforting than she’d like to admit.

Like something once lost was starting to settle around her again. Not whole, not yet, but present.

Waiting.

Watching.

And somehow… familiar.

The shrill buzz of her phone cut through the contemplative silence, startling Rumi from her thoughts. She blinked over at the screen, squinting against the dim light of her room.

Mira.

With a sigh, she swiped to answer and brought the phone to her ear.

“Hey,” Rumi greeted, her voice hoarse from disuse.

“Finally,” Mira said, her tone clipped but unmistakably relieved. “I was starting to think you’d turned to stone.”

Rumi gave a weak chuckle, her eyes drifting toward Tiger, who blinked lazily from where he was curled up beside her. Crow was perched on the window ledge, watching the world outside with eerie stillness.

“Yeah, well… it’s been quiet here. Just me and the zoo.”

There was a pause.

“…The what?”

Rumi’s heart skipped. “Oh! Uh, no—I meant, like… I went to the zoo the other day. Just trying to clear my head. You know how I get when I’m restless.”

“You went to the zoo?” Mira repeated, suspicious.

“Mhm.” Rumi nodded far too emphatically for someone who wasn’t being watched. “Saw some… animals. Relaxing. Enriching. Very therapeutic.”

“You hate zoos.”

“Well, you know, I’m really trying to take this whole relaxation thing seriously. Trying new things, getting out of my comfort zone, really giving it my all,” Rumi rambled, the words tasting like a lie the moment they left her mouth.

She already regretted saying anything at all.

There was a pause on Mira’s end, but she let it slide, mercifully. Mira thankfully didn’t press further. Just let out a small, tired exhale through the receiver.

“How’s your dad doing?” Rumi asked, her voice softer now.

Another pause, longer this time. When Mira finally replied, her voice was more guarded, like she was sliding a door halfway closed. “Stable. Not worse… but not great either.”

“I’m sorry,” Rumi said gently.

“Yeah. Well. That’s how it goes,” Mira said with a brittle sort of humour, one that didn’t quite land. “He still won’t talk to me unless he thinks I’m there for his sake. Mum just hovers. It’s been… a time.”

Rumi didn’t push. She knew Mira wouldn’t want her to. That brittle tone said enough.

“You’ve been strong through all of it,” Rumi offered quietly.

Mira made a sound like a breathy laugh. “Strength is overrated.”

Rumi gave her a moment, then changed the subject. “There was a breach the other night. Water demon. It wasn’t bad, but…”

“But?”

“I used something,” Rumi said slowly. “Some kind of new power. Smoke teleportation or something. It was like, demon magic. I don’t know how I did it, but I just… knew how.”

Silence hummed between them.

Mira was quiet for a beat on the other end of the line. Then, softly, she asked, “Wait… demon powers? What do you mean?”

Rumi shifted uncomfortably on the bed, tugging her blanket up around her waist like it might protect her from the conversation.

“It was nothing huge,” she muttered. “Just… I kind of teleported, I guess. It happened in the middle of the fight, and I wasn’t even thinking about it—it just happened.”

“Teleported?” Mira repeated, a mix of awe and confusion in her voice. “Like, in smoke? Or—how did it feel?”

Rumi hesitated. “It felt… instinctual. The smoke was this reddish-purple mist. I didn’t even know what I was doing until it was over.”

There was another pause.

“Rumi…” Mira’s voice had softened. “That’s huge. And kind of a big deal. You’ve never done anything like that before, right?”

“Not really. Not consciously,” Rumi admitted, carefully leaving out the fact that she actually had done it once before. Mira didn’t need to know that part, not yet.

“Okay, well… maybe it’s time to talk to someone who might know more about what’s going on. Have you thought about asking Celine?”

Rumi blinked. “Celine?”

“Yeah. You said she’s always known about your heritage, and if anyone has more insight on this demon stuff, it’s probably her,” Mira reasoned gently. “She might be your best bet at figuring out what this ability means, or how to control it if it keeps happening.”

Rumi stared up at the ceiling, frowning slightly. The idea of seeing Celine again sent a twist through her gut, but… Mira had a point.

“Yeah,” she said eventually. “Maybe you’re right.”

Mira let a beat pass before replying. “I’m always right. But seriously, just talk to her. Something about this doesn’t feel random.”

“Yeah,” Rumi echoed, quieter this time. “It sure doesn’t.”

And even as the conversation drifted away, shifting back to Mira’s family tensions, then meandering into speculation about how Zoey was getting on in America, Rumi couldn’t quiet the anxious churn building in her gut at the thought of facing Celine.

Even if Mira was right, even if she was Rumi’s best shot at getting real answers, the idea of sitting across from the one person who had known the truth about her all along and forced her to repress it, made something cold and uneasy stir in her chest. There were too many memories wrapped up in Celine, too many things Rumi had chosen not to unpack.

But sooner or later, she knew she couldn’t keep running from the changes stirring inside her. And whether she wanted to or not, facing Celine was the first step on that path.

~

Celine’s house had always carried an air of tranquillity, like it existed just a breath outside the chaos of the real world. Maybe it was the way it nestled on the edge of the city, wrapped in the hush of nature and the crispness of unpolluted air. Trees lined the property like gentle sentinels, and birdsong replaced the usual hum of traffic, a place where time seemed to slow down, just enough to let thoughts catch up.

Rumi stepped through the front door and was immediately greeted by the soft scent of sandalwood and something faintly floral — jasmine, maybe.

The atmosphere inside the house was just as serene as she remembered: all soft woods and muted tones, like the entire space had been carved out of peace itself. Smooth timber floors gleamed underfoot, and floor-to-ceiling windows let natural light spill in, warming the rooms with a gentle glow. Sparse but intentional furnishings filled the space, cushions in earth tones, woven mats, a low tea table surrounded by floor cushions.

The house she’d grown up in.

The one she’d shared with Celine until her teenage years, when they had moved into the city so she could begin her training to become an idol. Returning now felt strange, like stepping back into a memory half-preserved in amber.

Her childhood had been shaped within these walls and in the garden beyond them. Joyful days spent basking in the sun-dappled shade of the great tree at the back of the property, nose deep in books or humming softly to herself. Hours passed by her mother’s grave, where she’d sit cross-legged in the grass, whispering stories, singing songs; childish attempts to fill the silence with connection.

But even in that peace, there had always been rules.

Shadows that loomed even on the brightest days.

“Hide your patterns,” Celine would say. “Cover them up. One day, you’ll hunt them. One day, you’ll kill them. They are not like us.”

Demons were monsters, she had been told. Vile, callous, twisted by their very nature. Her body, marked by them, had always been a source of quiet shame, something to be concealed, controlled, never understood.

Now, walking these halls again, Rumi couldn't help but wonder, how much of what she’d been taught had been truth… and how much had just been fear?

Rumi padded softly through the quiet house, the wooden floors creaking underfoot in familiar places, like they were greeting her after a long absence.

Through the glass doors that opened to the garden, she spotted her.

Celine knelt in the grass, tending to the flower beds that had once been Rumi’s responsibility when she was little. Her movements were slow, deliberate, graceful in the way only someone with power restrained could be. Her long hair was pulled into a loose braid that hung down her back like a vine, streaked with more silver than Rumi remembered. Setting sunlight poured through gauzy curtains, painting delicate patterns on the walls.

Rumi hesitated only a moment before sliding the door open.

“The garden looks good,” she said, her voice tender.

Celine didn’t startle. She simply looked up, brushing soil from her palms as she stood.

“You always did like the hydrangeas,” she replied with a small smile. “They bloom better out here. Not so smothered by city noise.”

Rumi let the door fall shut behind her. “Yeah, well. City noise has its moments.”

They stood in a quiet that felt less like silence and more like stillness, like a pause between notes in a song they both remembered.

Celine gestured toward the old stone bench near the flowerbeds. “Come sit. You look exhausted.”

Rumi sat. “I’ve been... busy. Patrolling. Trying to relax. Not really succeeding at either.”

Celine’s smile was faint. “You never were good at sitting still.”

“Something like that,” Rumi muttered.

There was a moment of silence, not uncomfortable, but tentative.

“How’s Zoey doing?” Celine asked after a beat, voice light, but eyes observant.

“In America?” Rumi replied. “She’s… reconnecting. Catching up with old friends, getting way too comfortable with diner milkshakes and late-night karaoke.”

“That sounds exactly like her.” Celine chuckled faintly. “And Mira? Is she holding up alright? With her father and everything…”

“She’s doing what she always does,” Rumi said. “Holding it together. Carrying everything and still acting like she’s fine.”

“She’s always been good at that.” Celine agreed, her tone edged with something wistful.

There was a beat of quiet — the kind that carried weight without needing to be filled. In it, the distant call of a magpie rang out, the rustle of leaves adding a softness to the moment that felt unusually fragile.

Celine tilted her head, watching Rumi. “And what about you?”

Rumi blinked. “What about me?”

“Are you still trying to carry everything too?”

Rumi huffed a laugh through her nose, avoiding the question. “Trying to relax, remember?”

Celine didn’t press, only smiled faintly.

Rumi chuckled, and for a fleeting moment, it felt easy, just the two of them in the garden, the hum of insects, the gentle sway of branches in the wind. Like nothing had changed. Like she was just a kid again, talking to the one person who always made her feel protected.

“I’ve been noticing... changes,” Rumi said after a moment, voice cautious. “In me. My powers. I used something in a fight the other night, something I didn’t know I could do.”

Celine’s body stiffened, almost imperceptibly. “What kind of something?”

“I... teleported. In a puff of smoke. Like—like they do. Demons.” Her voice wavered slightly on the last word, but she forced it steady. “It just happened. I didn’t mean to, but it felt... instinctual.”

Celine turned to face her fully now, eyes sharp. “You cannot use those powers, Rumi.”

The words hit like a slap. Rumi blinked, sitting up straighter.

“Why not?”

“Because they’re not yours to use,” Celine said, firm. “Because those powers were forged in a realm of chaos. Because you are not a demon. You are a Hunter.”

“But they’re inside me, Celine. I didn’t choose that.”

“And now you have a choice,” Celine replied. “You do not use them. You resist them. The moment you give them space, they will take more than you ever intended to give.”

Rumi stared at her, hurt beginning to fester under her ribs. “So I’m just supposed to pretend this part of me doesn’t exist? That it isn’t waking up?”

“You’ve done it before,” Celine said simply, her voice quiet but cold. “You’ve been strong enough to suppress it.”

Something in the air between them fractured, brittle and sudden. The warmth that had softened Rumi’s chest now chilled into something hard.

It was like she was a child again, being told to hide her marks, to lower her sleeves, to keep quiet about the parts of herself that didn’t fit the image Celine wanted her to be.

“But what if I don’t want to suppress it anymore?” Rumi asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Celine didn’t answer.

And that silence said more than any words could.

Rumi’s hands clenched in her lap, her nails biting into her palms.

“You say I have a choice, but what choice have I really had? You told me to hide my marks. You told me to hate the part of me that comes from my father. You built my entire life around rejecting who I am.”

“I built your life around protecting you,” Celine snapped, voice low and sharp. “You don’t know what demons are capable of.”

“I do know!” Rumi shot back, rising to her feet. “I was there, remember? I’m the one who defeated Gwi-Ma. I’m the one who’s out there every night holding the damn barrier together. I’ve been giving everything I have, every piece of myself, for this cause, for this world, and for you, Celine. So don’t sit there and talk to me about what demons are capable of like I haven’t bled for this.”

Celine stood too, her expression unreadable. “And now you’re using their power? Justifying it?”

“I’m not justifying anything! I’m trying to understand it,” Rumi shouted. “You think I wanted this? You think I asked for this power? I’ve been trying to figure it out alone, because you—you won’t even talk about it!”

Rumi’s voice cracked as she continued, her chest heaving.

“After everything... After we beat Gwi-Ma. After I finally came clean to Zoey and Mira. After I begged you to—” she stopped, choking on the words. “You couldn’t even do it. You weren’t strong enough to finish it. But you’re still somehow strong enough to look me in the eye and act like none of that matters. That these patterns, this power, that I… I don’t matter unless I’m the version of me you approve of.”

Celine’s eyes flickered, but she didn’t speak.

“And you know what hurts the most?” Rumi whispered. “It’s not the rejection. I’ve lived with that my whole life. It’s that even now, after everything, you still see these marks and only see danger. You still see me and think I need to be hidden, controlled, silenced.”

“You don’t understand what this power is,” Celine said quietly.

“No, I don’t,” Rumi spat. “Because every time I try to understand, you shut me down. And I am so tired of being afraid of myself just to make you comfortable.”

The words hung between them like thunder.

The garden was still, the leaves gently swaying in the breeze, but everything in Rumi’s world was trembling.

“I came here hoping maybe things would be different,” she said, stepping back. “That maybe I’d find answers. Or even just acceptance. But all I got was the same silence and fear you’ve always given me.”

She turned toward the house, her throat tight. “I’m done pretending. I’m done pretending these powers aren’t part of me.”

And before Celine could stop her, Rumi was walking away; eyes blurry, fists clenched, heart shattering quietly behind her ribs as she fought back the sob that was lodged in her throat.

~

Rumi didn’t know how she ended up back at their spot once again, the quiet rooftop where her voice had once banished the darkness from his mind.

Where they had sung together under a veil of stars, two fractured souls briefly in harmony. Where his hand had lingered in hers a moment too long, and her heart had whispered truths her lips never dared to say. Where, just for a moment, she'd believed healing was possible.

Now, it felt like all that hope had crumbled into ash.

Her legs gave out beneath her, and she sank to the cool tiles, the wind brushing past her like a ghost of a memory. Her body curled into itself, arms wrapping tight around her knees as the weight of the conversation with Celine sank fully into her bones.

She had held it in for so long, kept herself moving, fighting, surviving — but now it cracked. All of it. The pain, the betrayal, the aching loneliness. It broke open like a dam.

A sob tore its way out of her, ragged and hoarse. Then another. Her shoulders shook as her heart shattered quietly, over and over again. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks, and she didn’t even try to wipe them away. The pain had to go somewhere.

Tiger pressed himself against her side, his warm body grounding her as his oversized head nudged her arm. Crow settled beside her too, letting out a soft, croaking chirr as his feathers fluffed up. They didn’t move with urgency, just stayed, like they understood her grief in a way words never could.

“I’m so tired,” Rumi whispered through clenched teeth, voice shaking. “I’m so damn tired of feeling like I’m wrong just for being.”

Her voice broke again.

“I thought she might… I don’t know. See me. After everything.” She turned her face upward, blinking at the sky. “But she still doesn’t. She never has.”

The truth came next, soft and searing.

“And now he’s gone. The only person who ever really got it. Who didn’t look at me like I was something to be fixed.”

More tears followed. Her chest burned, her breath stuttered.

“He saw me, all the parts I was scared of. He looked at the patterns and didn’t flinch. He understood.” She didn’t realise she was gripping the tile until her fingers began to ache. “I miss him. I miss him so much it hurts to breathe.”

Her breath caught in her throat, torn between sobbing and silence, and all at once it surged again. The grief. That unbearable, suffocating ache.

It lived in her like a second heartbeat. It pulsed behind her ribs, not with blood but with loss; a dull, cavernous throb that never quite quieted. It was in the marrow of her bones, in the space between each breath, in the hollow she felt when the laughter died, and she was left with nothing but echoes.

God, she missed him.

Not just his presence, but the way he had looked at her, like she wasn’t broken, like the parts of her she was told to hide were something sacred. He had seen her, truly seen her, and now, without that gaze to steady her, she felt unmoored. Like a thread pulled loose from the fabric of her own life.

The world had moved on. The threat was over. Gwi-Ma was gone.

And yet she wasn’t free. She was shattered. A war survivor still bleeding beneath the surface, held together by duty, by habit, and by a tether to a boy who no longer lived in flesh and bone.

“Why did you leave me?” she sobbed, her mind spiralling. “Why did you give yourself up? Why wasn’t I enough to make you stay?”

The guilt wrapped around her chest like a vice, because she hadn’t stopped him. Hadn’t been strong enough to change the ending, to save him, to free him.

She rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to chase away the cold that had settled deep in her body, not from wind or temperature, but from absence. The kind of cold that no fire could touch.

Grief, it turned out, didn’t just wound.

It haunted.

And then, in the middle of all that pain, something shifted.

It was subtle at first. Like a thread tugging gently at her core. A warmth blooming in her chest where all the hollowness had been. A flicker, faint but unmistakable, pulsing deep inside her like a heartbeat echoing across a great distance.

Her breath caught. She sat up slowly, blinking through the blur of tears. “What…?”

The tether pulled tighter, stronger. Not painful, but insistent.

And then, something inside her snapped, not like something breaking, but like something long-bound finally coming loose.

A pulse shot through her chest, radiating outward in a shimmer of blue energy, erupting from her sternum and casting a soft shockwave across the rooftop. It wasn’t smoke. It wasn’t fire. It was something purer. Brighter. The kind of energy that lived between the stars and behind the eyelids in dreams.

The air shimmered.

The world seemed to tilt.

And then, in front of her, forming from the heart of the blue light, stood a figure she would’ve known in any realm, any lifetime. Not solid. Not exactly spirit. But real enough that her heart lurched violently in her chest.

Jinu.

Chapter Text

This couldn’t be real.

There was no way this was actually happening.

And yet, no matter how fiercely Rumi’s mind scrambled for logic, for reasoning, for anything that could explain it, there he was.

Jinu.

Not quite as she remembered him, but unmistakably him all the same.

His figure shimmered faintly in the moonlight, more essence than flesh, his features softened at the edges like a dream pulled from the deepest part of her memory. His skin glowing with a surreal, cool blue hue, faintly luminescent; it wasn’t just the colour, it was alive with movement, like quiet magic humming beneath the surface.

His features were unmistakably his, devastatingly handsome, sharply defined yet achingly soft, like a memory trying to stay intact. But his appearance now carried an ethereal edge, like he had one foot still in the realm beyond.

Jagged, violet patterns crawled across his skin like lightning frozen in time, carved into his form in elegant, chaotic symmetry; tribal, arcane, unmistakably demonic.

His eyes, however, were human.

Soft brown, deep and searching, brimming with a quiet melancholy that struck her like a blow to the chest. They were the same eyes that had once watched her during those late nights they'd spent together; nights spent unravelling each other, sharing vulnerabilities they'd never dared voice before. The same eyes that had gazed into hers, so tender and giving and sorrowful, when he had sacrificed himself for her. When he’d smiled through the pain, through the grief, and chosen her life over his own.

They grounded him, even as the rest of him shimmered like a spirit caught between worlds.

"Jinu...?" Her voice cracked around the name, barely more than breath.

His gaze softened, and he took a step toward her; silent, smooth, not quite touching the ground.

“I thought...” Rumi’s throat closed up, grief and disbelief tangling together. “I watched you—”

“I know,” he said gently.

His voice, God, it was exactly the same. Low, melodic, and warm enough to undo her entirely.

Rumi stared at him, frozen in place, every inch of her body coiled with tension, as if even the smallest movement might shatter the vision before her. Her heart was a storm, thundering against her ribcage, torn between the desperate urge to run to him, and the paralysing fear that this wasn’t real.

She wanted to touch him. God, she needed to. To reach out and brush her fingers through his dark hair, to feel the warmth of him beneath her hands, to pull him close and bury herself in the space between his shoulder and neck and never, ever let go again.

But she didn’t move.

Because how could she? How could she close that distance when she didn’t even understand what was happening? Whether this was real, or another cruel trick of grief and magic and exhaustion. Whether he was truly here, or just some echo of him, something pulled from her aching heart and cast into the world by her longing.

And so, she stayed where she was, trembling and wide-eyed, her hands clenched tightly at her sides to stop herself from reaching for him.

The wind danced through the trees, brushing the back of her neck like a ghost’s touch. Tiger whined low beside her, pressing his body into her side, and Crow landed lightly on her shoulder, talons curling gently against her jacket. They, too, seemed to recognise the weight of what stood before her.

Jinu’s gaze, so achingly tender, flicked past her to the two creatures flanking her sides. Tiger tilted his head in that comically expressive way of his, blinking up at the figure with an almost reverent curiosity, while Crow let out a low caw and shifted slightly forward, wings tucked but eyes keen.

And then, Jinu smiled.

Soft. Gentle. The kind of smile Rumi remembered from stolen moments in the shadows, just before a battle or just after a shared joke, when the weight of the world slipped from his shoulders for a breath of time.

He crouched, extending a hand toward Tiger.

"Hey, you still look ridiculous," he murmured, fondness lacing every word.

Tiger surged forward instinctively, purring as he went to nuzzle into Jinu’s palm, only to pass right through him.

Jinu’s hand didn’t even tremble. It simply slipped through Tiger’s head as though his body was nothing but air and light. Crow hopped closer, tilting its beaked face up to Jinu, but the same thing happened. He was… intangible.

Jinu pulled his hand back slowly, his expression dimming with a flicker of quiet sadness. He looked at his own fingers for a moment, studying them like they weren’t his. Like he too was trying to make sense of what he was.

Rumi’s heart skipped. The moment shattered into shards of disbelief, panic threading through her chest.

This couldn’t be real.

This wasn’t real.

She took a shaky step back, breath catching in her throat.

“What is this…” she whispered to herself. “What kind of demon trick is this?”

Her mind scrambled for explanations. Maybe it was magic, some forgotten remnant of Gwi-Ma’s power. Or maybe a demon was playing with her, feeding off her emotions, making her see what she wanted more than anything in the world.

Or maybe… maybe she was simply losing her mind.

Hallucinating. Dreaming. Breaking.

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d seen him in the dark or heard his voice whisper through her thoughts.

But this, this felt different.

Too vivid. Too alive.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Rumi stood stunned, her breath shallow in her chest, heart slamming so loudly she was sure the whole street could hear it. Her eyes stayed fixed on Jinu, her fists tightened at her sides, her body tense like a bowstring drawn too tight.

“This isn’t real,” she muttered, aloud this time, trying to steady her voice, as if saying it out loud might shatter the illusion. “It can’t be real.”

Jinu tilted his head slightly, a wry smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“You really think your grief is this creative?”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because despite everything screaming at her to run, to deny, to collapse under the weight of her confusion, there was something.

A thrumming in her chest. A pull, gentle yet undeniable, like a string stitched between her ribs and the space he occupied. Every time he shifted, it tugged. Every time he looked at her, it pulsed stronger. And it wasn’t just inside her, it was in the air, too.

A tether of magic. Of memory. Of something ancient and deep and powerful.

Jinu stepped forward, his form still faintly aglow with blue light.

“I literally just exploded out of your chest, Rumi,” Jinu said, raising his brows and gesturing broadly. “Blue light, emotional breakdown, very cinematic. And you’re seriously going to stand there and think this is a hallucination?”

Rumi blinked at him, still rooted to the spot.

 “I—I don’t know what this is.” She swallowed hard.

Her voice cracked under the weight of it.

“Exactly,” he said, a gentler smile tugging at his lips now. “You don’t know. But you feel it. I do too.”

And as if on cue, the thread between them pulsed again, stronger this time, a heartbeat that echoed in her bones.

She pressed her palm to her chest, to the place he’d burst from just minutes ago.

“Then how are you here?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jinu took one slow, tentative step closer.

“That,” he said, “I’m hoping we can figure out together.”

~

Rumi walked quickly through the dimly lit streets of Seoul, hands shoved deep into her coat pockets, jaw clenched so tight it ached. The sky had darkened fully now, the hush of night settling like a blanket over the city.

And yet, somehow, he was still there.

“You don’t have to walk that fast,” Jinu called, floating effortlessly beside her, hands tucked casually behind his head. “I’m not even walking, technically. Just hovering, I think. Kind of nice actually. Less pressure on the joints.”

“Ghosts don’t have joints,” Rumi muttered under her breath, refusing to look at him.

“Rude,” Jinu said. “Also inaccurate. I have knees. You just saw me kneel dramatically not five minutes ago.”

Rumi kept walking, her boots clicking sharply against the pavement. “You’re not real.”

“Okay. And yet, here I am. Again: burst from your chest. Felt very symbolic.”

“Stop saying that,” she snapped, glaring at him briefly before looking away again.

He grinned, unfazed. “Why? It was poetic. Tragic. Beautiful, even. I think the blue light was a nice touch.”

“You are not real,” she repeated, louder this time. “You’re a manifestation. A hallucination. A— a magical projection from a demon trying to manipulate me. Something.”

Jinu floated backwards in front of her, effortlessly keeping pace. “Wow. You really do have trust issues.”

Rumi rolled her eyes so hard she thought she might see into another dimension. “Gee, I wonder why. Maybe it’s because the last time I got close to someone with glowing eyes and demon magic, they died. Right in front of me.”

He stopped moving just for a beat. “That… okay. That’s fair.”

“Damn right it’s fair.”

They turned the corner near her building, the quiet hum of the city washing over them. Jinu hovered beside her again, hands now stuffed into the pockets of the same long black coat he always wore, though she knew it wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real. And yet, the folds of it swayed like fabric, caught in the night breeze. Just like they used to.

“I get it, you know,” Jinu said softly. “Why you can’t accept it. I didn’t believe it either at first.”

Rumi stopped walking.

He hovered a few paces ahead, stopping with her.

“I don’t want this,” she said. “If it’s real, then I have to face what it means. And if it’s not, then I’ve finally lost it.”

Jinu’s expression sobered. “You haven’t lost it.”

“Don’t act like you know me.”

He tilted his head slightly. “I do. That’s the whole problem.”

Rumi clenched her fists again, biting back the thousand things she wanted to scream into the night. Instead, she just turned and entered her apartment building, one of those sleek, high-rise towers that screamed idol money before you even stepped foot inside.

The marble-tiled lobby gleamed under warm, ambient lighting, and a soft piano instrumental played in the background, like the entire building was trying to convince its residents they lived inside a luxury spa. Glass walls offered a view of a meticulously groomed courtyard, and the scent of fresh flowers, real ones, wafted through the air, courtesy of the constantly refreshed arrangements at the front desk.

The doorman gave her a polite nod. “Miss Rumi.”

She offered him a faint smile, dipping her head in acknowledgment. “Evening.”

Jinu whistled low behind her, clearly impressed as he strolled in through the front doors like he still had corporeal form and a rent account.

Rumi ignored him. She kept walking, heels clicking softly on the marble as she made a beeline for the elevator. Inside, she hit the button for the top floor.

“Penthouse princess, huh?” Jinu leaned against the mirrored elevator wall as the doors slid shut, crossing one ankle over the other with infuriating ease.

Rumi didn’t respond. She didn’t look at him.

But he kept talking anyway.

“Top floor, private elevator, probably got a rooftop garden and a spa too. Damn.”

Rumi exhaled through her nose, slow and controlled.

She wasn’t going to respond.

She wasn’t going to acknowledge the fact that he was following her. That he was floating in an elevator. That she could see the dim reflection of his form in the mirrored walls, but she couldn’t hear a single footstep.

That wasn’t how ghosts were supposed to work. That wasn’t how hallucinations were supposed to feel.

Jinu smirked, clearly reading every thought on her face. “Still not real, huh?”

The elevator pinged.

The doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the entrance to the Huntrix penthouse, the sprawling home she now had all to herself.

And the silence hit like a wave.

Tiger and Crow were already padding toward her, their silhouettes sharp against the ambient glow of the penthouse lights, tails flicking and eyes glowing faintly in the dimness. The fact they’d beaten her there didn’t surprise Rumi in the slightest, but that didn’t stop the small sting of jealousy that bloomed in her chest. How effortless it must be, to slip between places like wind through open windows.

What she wouldn’t give to travel like that. No private cars, no rooftops, no spiralling thoughts keeping her company on long walks. Just movement. Just silence. Just freedom.

Tiger gave a soft growl, which Rumi somehow understood as a sound of concern from the creature.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, kicking off her shoes.

“They’ve made themselves at home, haven’t they?” Jinu commented as he wandered further in behind her, eyes roaming the open-plan space. “Living the high life. Cushy furniture. Full view of the Seoul skyline. You sure they’re not the ones paying rent?”

“They’ve been keeping me company,” Rumi said with a small shrug. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Jinu raised a brow. “Oh, it absolutely is my business if my familiars have defected to someone else.”

“They didn’t defect,” Rumi muttered. “They upgraded.”

That earned a grin from him. “Ouch.”

Jinu drifted in smoothly, coming to a halt just in front of his two familiars. Jinu chuckled softly, crouching instinctively even though he no longer had weight to settle.

“Boys,” he cooed, grinning. “Be honest, do you love me more than Rumi?”

Crow tilted his head with quiet curiosity, while Tiger, ever eager, attempted to rub against him, only to pass straight through once more.

Rumi watched silently as Jinu chuckled sadly, reaching out instinctively and watching his fingers pass through Tiger’s fur.

“Yeah. Thought that might happen.”

Rumi crossed her arms. “See? You’re not real.”

Jinu stood back up, brushing phantom dust off his coat. “Or maybe I’m just… halfway here. Like you.”

Rumi blinked. “What does that mean?”

He gave her a mischievous little smile, like he wasn’t quite sure himself. “Guess we’ll find out. That is, unless you plan to kick me out.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Can I?”

He smirked. “Would it work?”

She sighed loudly and turned her back to him, heading to the kitchen. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

“Only if you let it be,” he called after her. “Also, if you have ramen, I vote we make some. Ghost or not, I’ve missed that smell.”

Rumi paused in front of the pantry, hand resting on the knob, her heart a confusing mess of grief, longing… and hope.

Stupid, stupid hope.

Rumi stared blankly at the contents of the fridge, eyes glazing over tubs of kimchi, half-wrapped parcels of takeout, and a lonely bag of grapes that had definitely seen better days. After a few seconds of indecision, she pulled out a container of cold japchae and shut the fridge with her foot.

Jinu leaned against the counter; arms crossed in that casual way of his. Rumi wasn’t even going to bother questioning the physics of how this ghostly hallucination could lean on furniture like it was solid yet still pass straight through living beings.

“Really? Cold noodles straight from the tub? No microwave, no shame?”

Rumi shot him a flat look as she grabbed a fork. “I don’t exactly have the energy to be gourmet right now.”

“You’re one of the most powerful girls on the planet,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “And this is how you live?”

“Shut up,” she mumbled, stuffing a too-large bite into her mouth. The noodles were clumped together, barely seasoned anymore, but it was sustenance. Sort of. “You’re a hallucination. You don’t get to judge me.”

“I think hallucination-Jinu has excellent taste,” he replied with a grin, gesturing to himself.

She ignored him, chewing with determination now, as though that might somehow anchor her to reality. As if the bland taste could clear her thoughts, make any of this make sense. But it didn’t. Nothing did.

“I’m going to bed,” she announced abruptly, tossing her fork into the sink with a clatter and snapping the lid back onto the container. “This is a dream. I’m obviously losing it. I’ll wake up in the morning, and you’ll be gone. Just like you’ve been every other morning since—”

Her voice caught. She didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she shoved the leftovers back into the fridge and turned on her heel.

Behind her, Jinu said nothing at first. Just watched her quietly, a shadow of something unspoken flickering across his face.

“You really think I’m a dream?” he finally asked, voice softer now, more human.

“I think,” she said, pausing at the edge of the kitchen, “that I’m tired. And that whatever this is… my heart can’t take it if it’s not real.”

With that, Rumi strode across the apartment and into her bedroom, the low hum of the city filtering through the glass balcony doors. She didn’t bother turning on the light. What was the point? Maybe if she got under the covers quickly enough, this entire delusion would dissolve by morning. Maybe she'd finally get a decent night's sleep.

She paused at the edge of her bed, dragging the blanket back.

Jinu lingered in the doorway. “You really think you’ll wake up and I’ll be gone?” His voice was soft now, stripped of any playfulness. “Is that what you want?”

Rumi didn’t answer. Her hand clenched around the edge of her blanket.

He exhaled slowly, the sound tinged with something heavy, sadness, maybe. For a moment, he looked almost transparent, like even his spirit couldn’t bear to linger.

But then, as if catching himself, his features flicked back into a grin.

“Well, if I’m still here in the morning, you’ll have to admit I’m not just a dream. Or at least,” he added with a mischievous tilt of his head, “we could test things out. I could crawl under the blankets with you. Snuggling up with a ghost… that’s got to break the hallucination, right?”

Rumi narrowed her eyes, sending him a glare that could slice through glass.

Jinu gave a low whistle. “So cold. I was just offering comfort in your time of crisis. Very generous of me, considering the circumstances.”

She walked up to the door, face impassive, and without another word, slammed it in his face.

There was a beat of silence, then his muffled voice drifted through from the other side:
“Goodnight to you too, princess.”

Rumi leaned her forehead against the door, breathing slow and shallow. Her body ached with exhaustion, her mind felt like it had been cracked wide open.

And yet… part of her still longed to open the door again.

She didn’t.

Instead, she climbed into bed, pulled the covers over her head, and whispered to the dark.

“Please, just be gone by morning.”

Chapter Text

Sunlight streamed in through the curtains, bathing Rumi’s bedroom in a soft, golden light. Dust motes danced lazily in the beams, and the crisp chill of morning air brushed against her cheek through the crack in the balcony door she’d forgotten to close.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, she had actually slept. Properly. No tossing, no turning, no waking up in cold sweats, no dreams full of memories or monsters or heartbreak. Just sleep, calm and undisturbed.

She exhaled deeply, stretching beneath her covers like a cat, a small, pleased smile tugging at her lips.

“See?” she mumbled sleepily into her pillow. “Just a weird stress dream... just a ghostly hallucination. Nothing to worry about.”

Rolling onto her side with a contented sigh, she tugged the covers up over her shoulder, prepared to slip right back into sleep—

—only for her entire body to lock up the second she realised someone was lying beside her.

A very familiar someone.

“Morning, sunshine,” came the smug voice of Jinu, as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world.

Rumi’s eyes shot open, only to find him perched on his side, elbow propped against the pillow, his hand lazily supporting his head. He looked infuriatingly comfortable, like he belonged there.

Rumi shrieked.

She launched herself away from him, instinct overriding logic, only to roll too hard and tumble straight off the bed with a dramatic thud, the blanket tangled around her legs like a net. A nearby pillow followed her descent with a soft plop to the floor beside her.

“What the actual hell!” she gasped, scrambling upright, her heart pounding wildly. “You’re still here?!”

Jinu peeked over the edge of the bed, expression far too amused for Rumi’s liking.

“You’re very dramatic in the morning. Is this how you greet all your guests, or am I just special?”

Rumi froze. Her breath caught somewhere in her throat. She didn’t scream this time, didn’t flail or shout. She just stared, heart pounding, the blood roaring in her ears louder than any alarm clock.

Because as much as she loathed to admit it, clearly this wasn’t just a hallucination. He hadn’t vanished when the sunlight hit him. There was too much clarity in his expression, too much detail in the way his gaze moved over her face.

He was still here.

Still him.

Still… real.

But with that realisation came a sudden rush of anxiety, swelling inside her like a rising tide. That if she let that truth fully settle, she’d have to face everything that came with it. The overturn of her grief, the confusion, the why and how of it all. And the truth was… she wasn’t ready.

At all.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Jinu said, voice low and teasing, but softer than before. “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Rumi swallowed, her voice hoarse. “But… you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Tell that to you. You’re the one who pulled me out, remember?”

She didn’t reply. Couldn’t. Her thoughts were too tangled, emotions too raw. All she could do was stare, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

Jinu offered her a smile, a little gentler now. “I know this is a lot. We’ll figure it out.”

Rumi simply lay there on the floor, the ceiling slowly coming into focus as her brain caught up to her reality. Or, whatever this was now. After a long moment, she let out a groan and rolled onto her side.

“I need coffee,” she mumbled. “So much coffee. Buckets of it. Before I even begin to start processing any of this.”

She pushed herself off the floor with the weight of someone who had just been spiritually drop-kicked by the universe. As she got to her feet, Jinu, still lounging smugly on her bed like he owned it, tilted his head slightly.

And then, he started laughing.

Low at first, almost to himself. Then it grew into a full-on chuckle, the kind that lit up his entire face. It was so casual, so easy, that it twisted something in Rumi’s chest.

“What?” she snapped, brushing dust off her sleep shirt. “What’s so funny?”

“We really need to talk about your taste in pyjama pants,” he said between laughs, motioning toward her legs.

Confused, Rumi glanced down, then groaned in exasperation. Of course. She’d completely forgotten about the pyjamas she’d hastily thrown on last night, too eager to crash and wake up from what she’d assumed was a bizarre dream. The ones adorned with tiny airplanes and cartoon kittens wearing pilot goggles.

Because of course she’d throw on these pants of all things.

Jinu just grinned wider, completely unbothered. “Airplanes and kittens, really? Meow meow.”

“I hate you,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing her pillow off the floor and chucking it in his direction.

It passed clean through him. He didn’t even flinch. The pillow flopped uselessly onto the mattress beneath him, as though mocking her.

“Bold talk for someone wearing cat pilot pants.”

Rumi did the most mature thing she could think of — flipping Jinu off, which only seemed to make him smile even more smugly.

“I don’t understand how your ghost physics work,” she grumbled, snatching up her blanket and tossing it back on the bed as well. “You’re floating one second, then casually lounging on my bed the next. And now I can’t even hit you with a pillow?”

Jinu shrugged, the amusement still lingering in his expression. “I’m full of mysteries.”

Rumi wasn’t even going to start questioning the ghost physics of it all, how Jinu could lean against walls and lounge on furniture one second but couldn’t seem to touch anything living the next.

“Well, you can stay a mystery for five more minutes,” she said flatly, already moving toward the door. “Not a single thought until I’ve had caffeine.”

Rumi stepped into the hallway and made her way to the kitchen. As she passed the living room, Tiger and Crow were sprawled lazily in their usual spots, basking in the warm morning sunlight streaming through the window. Tiger lay on his back, paws twitching in his dreams, tongue lolling out in that blissful, unguarded way cats do when completely at ease. Nearby, Crow remained ever watchful, flicking his tail with quiet contentment.

The quiet clink of the kettle starting to boil filled the stillness of the room. Rumi moved on autopilot, reaching for her favourite mug. The comforting ritual was exactly what she needed to brace herself for the day.

Jinu floated after her into the kitchen, still wearing that infuriatingly smug grin.

“You know,” he began, leaning casually against the counter, “if you spent as much time brewing coffee as you do moaning about it, you’d be caffeinated by now.”

Rumi shot him a withering glance. “And if you spent less time laughing at me, you might actually be helpful.”

He chuckled, eyes glinting with mischief. “Is that a challenge?”

She rolled her eyes but felt a flicker of something she wasn’t quite ready to name. “Don’t push your luck, ghost boy.”

Jinu’s grin softened just a fraction. “You love it when I do.”

Choosing to not-so-subtly ignore him, Rumi turned back to the task at hand. As the kettle hissed, Rumi leaned against the counter, watching Tiger twitch in his sleep and Crow’s eyes half-close in contentment. For a moment, the chaos of her thoughts faded, replaced by the simple comfort of routine, the steady rhythm of the morning unfolding around her.

Even with the ghost—spirit, whatever he was—of Jinu self-assuredly lingering right behind her as she did.

Rumi focused on the simple, grounding task of making coffee. The familiar motions of scooping the grounds, pouring the hot water, and waiting for the rich aroma to fill the air helped steady her swirling thoughts. She cradled the warm mug in her hands, savouring the comforting heat against her skin.

Taking a long, deliberate sip, she let out a soft sigh of contentment, the bitterness and warmth of the coffee cutting through the fog in her mind.

Jinu watched her fondly from across the counter, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips.

“Better?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

Rumi glanced over her shoulder, a reluctant smile tugging at her mouth.

“A little,” she admitted. “But don’t think that means you’re off the hook.”

Jinu gave her a long, contemplative look, one that seemed to stretch on for eons, though it was probably only a few seconds.

Rumi tried to ignore the way it made her heart thump unevenly in her chest. There was something in his expression, eyes unusually soft, lips tilted in a knowing, pleased sort of way, that made her insides flip-flop like she’d missed a step on solid ground. It was infuriating, how effortlessly he could unsettle her.

Shaking it off as best she could, she turned her attention back to her coffee and took another sip, hoping the warmth would anchor her.

“Instant coffee, huh? Really?” Jinu commented, raising an eyebrow.

Rumi shot him a sideways glance. “What? It’s quick, effective, and exactly what I need right now.”

He smirked. “You have a fancy espresso machine that could make a decent latte in seconds, but nope, you go straight for the instant.”

“Hey, instant coffee is an art form,” Rumi defended, a playful edge creeping into her voice. “Not everyone has the luxury of standing around waiting for a machine to work its magic.”

Rumi rolled her eyes, setting the mug down with a soft clink against the marble benchtop.

“Are you seriously judging my coffee choices right now? You’re a—” She paused, frowning slightly. “Actually… what are you?”

Jinu leaned back—well, floated back—his arms loosely folded, expression tilting toward amused curiosity.

“That’s a good question.”

“And not exactly an answer,” she muttered.

He arched a brow, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So, now you believe I’m real?”

She gave him a pointed look over the rim of her mug as she picked it up, took another sip of coffee, then exhaled slowly.

 “I don’t know what this is. But… no, I don’t think I’m hallucinating or dreaming anymore.” Her voice was quieter now, more grounded. “This doesn’t feel like something just in my head.”

“About damn time…” he replied smugly.

Rumi exhaled through her nose, arms crossing over her chest. They let the silence stretch for a beat, both suddenly aware that they’d reached the edge of a much heavier conversation.

“I thought I was losing it, you know. After the Gwi-Ma battle . After you…” she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence, so instead she let it hang in the air, skimming past what they both already knew. “I kept hearing your voice in my head. Dreaming about you. Seeing flashes of you in reflections, in shadows, in—” she trailed off, shaking her head. “I thought it was just guilt. Or grief. Or both.”

Jinu gave her a sidelong glance. “You were dreaming of me?”

She rolled her eyes, though the faintest hint of pink bloomed across her cheeks. “Don’t start.”

“No judgement,” he said lightly, flashing her a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve been dreaming about me, hearing my voice, seeing me everywhere… I mean, I get it. I’m hard to forget.”

Rumi narrowed her eyes, not missing the way his tone leaned into playfulness just a little too hard, like he was using it to paper over the ache underneath.

His words were light, teasing, but Rumi could feel it. That tug in the strange thread between them, like an echo vibrating in her chest. Emotions that weren’t hers; the flutter of nervousness, the low thrum of sorrow, the tight coil of something unspoken. Whatever this connection was, it let her feel the truth behind the mask he wore.

He was hurting too.

She could sense that he didn’t fully understand what was happening either, that the confusion twisting through him was just as real as her own. And maybe that should’ve made her feel better, knowing she wasn’t alone in this, but instead, it only made the weight in her chest sink deeper.

“Jinu,” she warned.

“Fine, fine,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

His eyes sparkled with mischief, but the glint didn’t last. Slowly, it faded into something dimmer, heavier, as the weight of what this all meant began to settle between them like fog.

“But seriously… I know. Because in whatever strange, void-like place I ended up, I was seeing you too.”

Rumi blinked.

“What?”

“I’d get flashes. Your face. Your voice. Not always clear. Sometimes just feelings; grief, anger, confusion, pain.” His expression softened, something almost haunted slipping into his features. “Other times, it was like hearing your voice through water. Calling out. Crying. Laughing. I didn’t know what was real, but… it was always you.”

Rumi looked down at her mug, fingers tightening around it.

Jinu continued, more quietly now.

“It was like… I was tethered to you. Pulled along by this thread I couldn’t see but could feel. Especially when things got dark for you. I could feel that you were slipping. That you were thinking about giving up. I— I tried to speak. I tried to find you.”

“The water demon…” Rumi whispered. “That was the first time it was… clear. Your voice. I thought I was imagining it.”

“You weren’t,” he said. “I didn’t know if it would work. I didn’t even know if I could reach you. But something about you… it pulled me back. Or forward. Or sideways—I don’t know how spirit physics work.”

Rumi snorted at that despite herself, a sharp sound that was halfway between disbelief and reluctant amusement.

“Thought maybe if you heard me, you’d hang on.” His eyes flicked to hers, shadowed by something deeper. “I figured if you gave up, I’d probably disappear too. And I already gave up my life once. Not really looking to do it again.”

There it was again, that deflection.

The way he wrapped the pain in a joke, smoothed over the cracks with charm. The easy humour used like a shield, that familiar lilt in his voice disguising something far heavier beneath. Rumi could feel it, pulsing faintly through that strange tether that bound them together. The echo of something unsaid.

His sacrifice had cost him more than he was willing to admit, more than he was even able to say. She could see it in the way his shoulders tensed when they both teetered around the topic, how his gaze flickered just slightly, like he was looking through her rather than at her.

Like he was remembering the moment and burying it in the same breath.

And the tether between them? It throbbed gently with that pain. Not overwhelming, but ever-present. Lingering.

He was afraid, too. Lost, like her. Rumi didn’t know if it made things better or worse, that she wasn’t alone in this disorientation, in this grief. That he was just as lost in the aftermath as she was.

The tether hummed between them again, unseen but unmistakable. A pulse in the air, deep and steady and strange. Like the universe itself was holding its breath between the two of them.

She took another sip of her coffee, eyes still on him. “So, you’re saying we’re… what? Spirit-linked now?”

Jinu’s lips quirked. “Soul tethered. Dream bonded. Cosmically cursed by fate. Take your pick.”

Rumi leaned against the kitchen counter; hands curled loosely around her now half-empty coffee cup. The silence that followed Jinu’s words stretched, heavier than before, laden with memory, with confusion, with things too complex to name.

Finally, she sighed, slow and unsteady.

“So… what do we do now?” she asked, her voice quiet as gestured vaguely between them. “I don’t even know where to start. I can’t exactly Google ‘ethereal tether connecting me to a maybe-dead boy who exploded out of my chest in a burst of energy’.”

Jinu snorted. “You’d be surprised what’s on the internet.”

Rumi didn’t laugh.

“I can’t tell Mira. Or Zoey. And I definitely can’t tell Celine. She’d probably try to exorcise you. Or worse.” She confessed as she stared down into her coffee, brows furrowed.

Jinu tilted his head, watching her closely. “So, I’m your dark little secret now?”

She gave him a flat look.

“You’ve always been my dark little secret.”

That earned a grin. “See? I knew you missed me.”

“Jinu,” she cautioned, but the edge in her voice was dulled by the way her lips twitched despite herself.

“Don’t look so glum, Rumi. We’re not completely without options.” He leaned back lazily, or at least, mimicked the gesture in mid-air.

“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow, suspicious. “You’ve been gone for months and suddenly you’re full of answers?”

“I didn’t say I had answers,” he corrected, smirking. “But I might know someone who could help us figure it out.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why does the way you said that make me feel like I’m not going to like it?”

“Because you’re definitely not.”

Chapter Text

Jinu was right, Rumi didn’t like the direction this was going.

Not as she stood outside of a towering skyscraper for the Rakheon Group, a sleek monolith of glass and steel that glinted in the midday sun like a razor blade.

The Rakheon Group was one of those names whispered with equal parts awe and wariness in every high-rise boardroom and back-alley deal across Seoul.

A sprawling corporate empire with its fingers in everything—technology, pharmaceuticals, logistics, private defence, entertainment, and a dozen other industries no one publicly acknowledged. Its success felt less like business acumen and more like something unnatural, like the company moved on instincts sharper than spreadsheets and forecasts.

At its centre was Rak Jae-Seon, the elusive CEO whose influence was undeniable yet untraceable. He rarely appeared in the media, never attended press conferences, and yet every major shift in Rakheon’s focus, from buying up biotech labs to suddenly launching a luxury cosmetics line, was credited to his vision.

His name carried weight in ways few could explain. No one seemed to know what drove him, only that he was brilliant, untouchable… and not quite like the rest of them.

She folded her arms, staring up at it warily.

“Seriously?” she muttered under her breath. “This is where you dragged me?”

Jinu floated a few paces ahead of her, hands clasped behind his back as he slowly turned to face her mid-air. He looked far too smug for someone who’d offered exactly zero explanation.

“What? It’s a nice building,” he said, voice smooth with feigned innocence. “Don’t tell me you’re intimidated by a few glass panels and corporate vibes.”

“I’m intimidated by the lack of information you’re giving me,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes and glancing to her left, where a passing businessman gave her a suspicious glance.

She cleared her throat and looked away, lowering her voice even more.

“And could you not hover so close? People already think I’m losing it without me whisper-arguing at the air.”

Jinu laughed under his breath. “Relax. No one can see me, remember? To them, you're just a very passionate woman muttering to herself about... skyscraper architecture.”

It was something they’d discovered not long after Jinu had rushed Rumi out of her apartment and into the bustling streets of Seoul, insisting they visit some mysterious acquaintance of his who could supposedly help them.

Rumi hadn’t exactly been surprised when no one batted an eye at the ghostly spectre of a former K-pop idol floating beside her, but it had confirmed what they’d both begun to suspect: to the average passerby, Jinu was practically invisible.

“Great,” Rumi muttered. “Can’t wait to go viral as the ‘insane idol on the sidewalk talking to buildings.’”

“Aw, don’t be like that. I’m sure they’ll just assume you’ve gone a little stir-crazy from taking too much time off. Happens to the best of us.” Jinu drifted along beside her, grinning, before floating backward through the revolving glass doors like it was nothing. “So… you coming?”

Rumi let out a long breath, casting one last uncertain look up at the building before following. Whatever this was, it had better be worth it.

As she stepped into the lobby, air-conditioned and hushed in the way that only expensive spaces could manage, she couldn’t help but scan the room. Marble floors. Black leather seating. A wall-sized aquarium glowing softly behind the reception desk.

As the heavy glass doors of the Rakheon Group slid shut behind her with a quiet hiss, Rumi looked around the pristine marble lobby, still half-expecting someone to stop her and ask what she was doing there. When no one did, she turned to Jinu, who was casually hovering beside her like he belonged in a place like this.

“Well?” she whispered. “Now what?”

“Go to reception,” Jinu said, gesturing toward the sleek front desk at the centre of the lobby. “Tell them you have a meeting with Mr Rak.”

Rumi blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what now?”

“You heard me.”

“You want me to walk up there and casually tell them I’ve got a meeting with Mr Rak? The Mr Rak? You do realise he’s one of the most elusive billionaires in the country, right? He makes CEOs look like interns.” She grumbled, voice slightly raised in annoyance, before catching herself.

A pair of suited professionals waiting by the lift raised an eyebrow in her direction.

Rumi cleared her throat and smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, Bluetooth.” She offered, tapping her ear. The lie felt cheap, but they seemed to buy it.

Jinu snorted. “Bluetooth? Wow. Smooth.”

“Shut up,” she whispered with a glare. “There’s absolutely no way this is going to work.”

Jinu flashed her a lopsided grin. “It’ll be fine.”

“You’re seriously still not going to tell me why we’re here, especially after a request like that?” Rumi asked, her voice a mix of irritation and disbelief.

“Nope,” he replied cheerfully. “But you’ll see. Just go to reception.”

Rumi let out a disbelieving sigh and made her way toward the reception desk, praying to any higher power listening that she wouldn’t get tackled by security within thirty seconds.

The receptionist, a woman with sleek hair and a navy blouse that probably cost more than Rumi’s entire outfit, looked up with a polite but guarded smile.

“Good morning. Do you have an appointment?”

Rumi hesitated for a moment before glancing sideways at Jinu, who gave her an encouraging nod.

“I—um—yes. I have a meeting with Mr Rak,” she said, trying to sound confident and completely not like she was committing corporate fraud.

There was a pause. The receptionist tilted her head slightly. “You’re not... Rumi? From Huntrix?”

Rumi stiffened, instinctively tugging the oversized hoodie further over her cap and sunglasses. She’d pulled together the best disguise she could manage on short notice, but clearly it hadn’t worked.

“Maybe,” she said slowly, then gave the woman a sheepish smile. “Guilty?”

The woman gave a startled laugh, the formality in her posture softening.

“Wow. It is you. My niece is obsessed with Huntrix. And I mean—obsessed. She did choreography to a bunch of your songs for her school assembly.”

Rumi smiled reflexively, already mentally preparing to sign something if asked. “That’s really sweet.”

The receptionist blinked, refocusing. “Wait—you’re here for a meeting?”

Rumi cleared her throat. “Yeah. I… I was told Mr Rak is expecting me?”

The receptionist gave her a once-over, still slightly unsure, but picked up the phone and dialled quickly. Rumi glanced at Jinu, who just gave her a smug little nod like see?

After a short, hushed exchange over the phone, the receptionist nodded and hung up.

“You’re clear to go up,” she said, a bit breathless now. “Mr Rak will see you.”

“Seriously?” Rumi blinked. “Just like that?”

“He said you’d be coming. You’ll need this.” The receptionist handed her a sleek black guest pass. “Scan this at the express elevator to your right. It’ll take you directly to the top floor.”

Rumi took the pass with numb fingers, still trying to piece together what the hell was going on.

She turned toward the elevators, Jinu floating casually behind her with all the smug energy of a cat who had knocked something expensive off a shelf.

“See? I told you it’d be fine,” he said as they entered the lift.

“You really enjoy being annoyingly mysterious, don’t you?”

“Only because it drives you crazy.”

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft ding, enclosing them in polished chrome and warm, low light. Rumi crossed her arms and leaned back against the mirrored wall; her brow still furrowed in suspicion as the lift as it began its smooth ascent.

“How in the world does Mr Rak know who I am?” she asked, glancing sidelong at Jinu, who was floating casually beside her with all the ease of someone on a leisurely holiday.

Jinu raised an eyebrow at her. “Seriously? You’re one of the most famous people in Korea. If not the world.”

She gave him a dry look. “Please. Mr Rak doesn’t strike me as the type to keep up with idol gossip.”

Jinu smirked. “Maybe not the gossip, no. But the Rakheon Group has an entire entertainment division—idols, actors, media conglomerates. Huntrix probably made them a small fortune in brand deals and streaming rights.”

Rumi blinked. “Wait—what?”

Jinu shot her a pointed glance. “Did you really think he didn’t know who you were? He probably has your face on a boardroom PowerPoint somewhere.”

The thought made Rumi cringe, but something else was clicking into place now. Her gaze narrowed.

How in all the realms did Jinu know so much about this?

Sure, she knew he’d spent time in the human world, during his twisted scheme to hijack Huntrix’s fandom, but it was only now dawning on Rumi that she might’ve underestimated just how much time he’d been here. He spoke about the inner workings of the industry with casual fluency, like someone who had been studying it far longer than she realised.

Yes, he’d moonlighted as an idol for a stretch, but it seemed strange, suspicious, even, that he knew this much about a powerful, elusive Korean CEO. Why would someone like Mr Rak have been on Jinu’s radar? And more importantly, how would that kind of knowledge have even benefitted Gwi-Ma’s plans?

“You seem to know an awful lot about Mr Rak,” she said slowly, watching him.

Jinu’s grin turned devilish. “Who do you think was bankrolling the Saja Boys?”

Rumi opened her mouth, the beginnings of a thousand questions forming. “Wait—why would billionaire bankroll a boyband of—”

Ding.

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open with a soft hiss.

Jinu floated in just behind her, hands clasped behind his back, his expression suspiciously serene.

“Saved by the bell,” he said lightly, before shooting her a wink. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Rumi shot him a look as she stepped forward and promptly stopped in her tracks.

She blinked at the sudden change in atmosphere. The top floor wasn’t just a hallway or a waiting room, it was practically its own world. A wide, open reception area stretched out before her, carpeted in dark, plush grey, lit by low-hanging pendant lights that glowed with warm, golden hues. Behind a sleek reception desk sat another sharply dressed woman, her posture impeccable and eyes already focused on Rumi as though she’d been expecting her the entire ride up.

But it wasn’t the modern luxury that caught Rumi off-guard, it was everything else.

The space was filled with oddities, relics, artefacts that didn’t belong in a corporate high-rise.

Goryeo-era masks were mounted in shadowboxes along one wall; one mask in particular seemed to be staring back at her with a hungry expression frozen in wood. A polished stone tiger statue guarded the far corner, and a glass display case showcased what looked like an ancient ceremonial dagger flanked by delicate bone combs and fragments of scrolls. All of it sat amidst matte black furniture, abstract art, and minimalist shelving as if centuries of Korea’s history had been dropped directly into a designer showroom. A golden crane statue crouched in one corner, its eyes glinting unnaturally under the lights.

“This is…” she started, trailing off as she took it all in, “...a lot.”

The receptionist stood and gave her a polite nod.

“Miss Rumi,” she said in a calm, clear voice, “Mr Rak will see you now. If you’ll follow me?”

Rumi stepped forward, then hesitated, casting a glance back at that particularly unsettling mask mounted in the corner.

“What’s with all the artefacts?” Rumi asked, making polite conversation as they walked down a spacious hallway toward what she assumed was Mr Rak’s office. “Not exactly the décor I expected from a billionaire CEO.”

The receptionist offered a small, knowing smile. “Mr Rak has a deep interest in Korean history. He's passionate about preserving relics and artefacts from various eras. He believes history has much to teach us, if we know how to listen.”

Rumi furrowed her brow, her mind spinning faster than she could keep up with. First demon boyband funding. Now an artefact-loving CEO with a taste for cultural relics?

Jinu, still floating behind her unseen, leaned in close with a smirk.

“He’s always been a bit dramatic.”

Rumi didn’t dare respond aloud, not with the receptionist just steps away, but she shot Jinu a sideways glare that said everything.

And still, a chill crept down her spine.

Because something about all of this, the masks, the relics, the hushed reverence of the space, felt far more than dramatic.

It felt deliberate.

Like she was being watched by time itself.

Eventually, they reached a set of towering double doors. Black with embossed silver trim, the handles carved like twisting vines. Rumi could feel her pulse pounding in her ears as the woman reached out and knocked once.

“The guest you were expecting, sir,” the receptionist said, her voice carefully polite.

From inside the vast office, a deep voice responded without hesitation. “Send her in. Thank you.”

The receptionist offered Rumi a tight-lipped smile before stepping aside. “He’s expecting you.”

And with that, she pivoted on her heel and left.

Rumi hesitated. Just for a moment. She didn’t know why her chest was so tight, or why her instincts had her every nerve on edge. Jinu hovered just over her shoulder, unusually quiet.

With a steadying breath, Rumi reached out and pushed open the heavy double doors, their weight groaning softly as they swung inward.

The office that unfolded before her was unlike anything she’d expected.

It was massive. Almost an entire floor’s worth of space wrapped in floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the glittering sprawl of Seoul below. The sunlight poured in, bouncing off glass and marble, gilding everything in a golden glow.

The modern elements were impossible to miss: minimalist black furnishings, a desk that looked carved from obsidian, sleek leather chairs, and digital panels glowing faintly from built-in walls. But just as striking were the artefacts that stood in sharp contrast to it all.

Murals adorned the walls; ancient Korean landscapes in bold brush strokes, stretching from ceiling to floor. In one corner, a sword stood mounted behind glass, its hilt wrapped in worn silk, its blade still gleaming as though freshly forged. Incense burned in a brass censer shaped like a dragon, and books, real ones, leather-bound and aged, lined black lacquered shelves alongside tiny sculptures, ceremonial fans, and aged scrolls sealed with red wax.

It should’ve clashed. It should’ve been jarring. But somehow… it worked. A perfect, calculated blend of the old world and the new.

And there, standing with his back to her, gazing out the window, was Mr Rak.

“Miss Rumi,” he said, his voice deep, smooth, cultured. “Thank you for coming.”

He turned slowly.

Rumi’s breath caught in her throat.

He was… beautiful. In a way that was too perfect to be entirely human. Tall, with sleek silver hair swept back from his face, not a strand out of place. Sharp cheekbones. Perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His skin held a youthful vitality despite his silver hair, ageless, elegant. His eyes were the most striking of all; dark, gleaming, intelligent… and ancient.

Far too ancient for any man who looked that refined.

There was something wrong about the way the room felt now. The way her skin prickled beneath her hoodie, the way her demon marks thrummed beneath the surface like they were reacting to something.

To him.

She wasn’t sure if it was his presence, his aura, or just something in the air, but her senses, trained and instinctual, were screaming at her.

Jinu muttered behind her, “Still a show-off, I see.”

Mr Rak’s eyes flicked momentarily in their direction, and for a split second, Rumi could have sworn… they landed right on Jinu.

A flicker of amusement crossed his features.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” he said, walking toward her with graceful steps that made no sound. “Huntrix’s Rumi. The Hunter with demon blood in her veins. Or perhaps I should say…” he paused, lips curving faintly, “…the girl who conquered Gwi-Ma.”

Rumi flinched, a shiver crawling down her spine as the hairs on the back of her neck rose instinctively, every part of her alert to something unseen but deeply felt.

The truth settled in her gut like ice.

Mr Rak was no ordinary billionaire. And this meeting was no ordinary invitation.

He was one of them.

And she had just stepped directly into a demon’s den.

Chapter Text

Of course this was happening to her.

Because why would anything ever be simple when her life was a chaotic mess of demon hunting and international stardom?

Instinct took over before thought could.

With a swift motion Rumi raised her hand, and with a shimmer, her blade materialised in her grip, glowing faintly with the same energy that always surged when danger was near.

Mr Rak didn’t so much as flinch.

In fact, he chuckled.

“There’s no need for theatrics, Miss Rumi,” he said smoothly, folding his hands behind his back as he stepped further away from the window. “We can have a civil conversation. Demon to demon.”

The words hit her like a slap.

Her grip tightened on the blade’s hilt, her gaze snapping to Jinu, still floating at her side, watching carefully. Her heart pounded in her chest, fury and confusion crashing into her all at once.

Her stomach dropped, cold washing through her in a wave of betrayal so sharp it stole her breath. Her thoughts spiralled as if caught in a whirlpool she couldn’t escape.

He brought me here. He brought me here, and he knew. He’s always known. And I trusted him. Again. I let him in again.

“You—” she spat, barely able to speak through the building rage. “You set me up.”

Jinu blinked. “Wait, what? Rumi—”

“I followed you here,” she hissed, not lowering her blade. “I let you pull me into this, into—” she gestured sharply to Mr Rak, “and what? You thought I’d just roll over? That I wouldn’t notice he’s a demon?”

“Now, now,” Mr Rak interjected calmly, tone dipped in amusement. “Let’s not turn this into something melodramatic. I assure you, I have no intention of harming you. Quite the opposite.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Rumi snapped, her pulse thundering in her ears. “A demon billionaire wants a friendly chat. Sure. Let me just put the kettle on.”

“Rumi,” Jinu tried again, firmer this time. “I didn’t betray you, I swear. My intentions in bringing you here are for both of our benefits.”

Rumi rounded on him, eyes burning. “But you knew he was a demon.”

Jinu hesitated.

And that half-second of silence was all she needed.

“You did,” she whispered, voice raw. “You knew. And you didn’t tell me.”

Guilt flickered across his face, brief and unguarded. But he said nothing.

Rumi’s hands trembled slightly at her sides, at the weight of everything. The power growing inside her, the confusion about what she was becoming, and now this, threatening to crush her from the inside out.

Mr Rak’s voice cut through the tension like steel, hard and cold, with an edge that left no room for misinterpretation. It wasn’t loud, but it carried, commanding the space effortlessly.

“Are we done posturing?” he asked lightly, stepping around his desk with the air of someone who had all the time in the world. “Because if you’re quite finished with your lovers quarrel, I believe we have far more interesting matters to discuss.”

Rumi straightened instinctively, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. There was power in that voice. Not just the corporate kind, but something older. Deeper.

Something that made her want to listen… and run.

Rumi didn’t lower her sword. Not yet. But she didn’t lunge either.

Because deep down, beneath the swirl of betrayal and fury, a part of her was desperate for answers. And if this demon, this Mr Rak, had them, she wasn’t going to walk away without hearing what he had to say.

“I didn’t set you up, Rumi,” Jinu said quickly, floating a little closer, his tone urgent now, serious in a way he rarely let show. “I knew that if I told you the full story, you’d freak out, and honestly? Fair. But I brought you here because… if anyone can help us figure out what’s going on, it’s him.”

Rumi didn’t drop her blade, but she faltered slightly.

Jinu continued, “He’s not just some flashy billionaire with a demon secret, he’s old. Ancient. He knows things about both realms, human and demon, that most wouldn’t dare whisper about. You want answers? He has them.”

Mr Rak, now standing behind his sleek black desk adorned with an oddly elegant tiger-shaped paperweight, chuckled lowly.

“How sweet,” he said, voice warm like velvet laced with iron. “So tempered now, aren’t you, Jinu? One might even say domesticated. You were far more brash the last time we spoke.”

Jinu’s expression darkened instantly, the shift in his presence sharp. “Cut the theatrics, Rakshon.”

Rumi’s eyes darted between them. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Wait—” she said slowly, lowering her weapon slightly as realisation hit her like a brick, “you can see him.”

“Of course I can.” Mr Rak replied, though he didn’t look away from Jinu.

“You can talk to him. Interact with him.”

“Observant,” Mr Rak said, finally turning his eyes back to her. “He’s not invisible to those who know how to look. Nor is he entirely gone, as I’m sure you’ve begun to suspect.”

“So,” she said, voice quieter now but still laced with steel, “you’re telling me I’ve been dragged into the office of a demon CEO, who just so happens to have a direct line to ghost-boy here, and I’m supposed to just go with it?”

“I’m not asking you to go with anything,” Mr Rak replied smoothly, pouring himself a dark amber drink from a crystal decanter. “I’m only offering a conversation. What you do with it… is entirely up to you.”

Jinu glanced at her then, something unreadable in his gaze. “I brought you here because you deserve answers. And… because I think you already know something about you is changing. You felt it too. This tether, whatever’s between us, it’s real. And he might know why.”

Rumi faltered for a moment, thrown by how matter-of-factly he said it. But her suspicion quickly returned.

“And how are you even here?” she demanded. “A demon behind one of the most powerful companies in Korea? How the hell has no one caught on to that?”

Mr Rak’s smile only grew more indulgent. “Because I’ve never given them reason to. I play the game. I pay taxes. I hold charity events. I sponsor idol groups. I keep the shadows where they belong.”

“Bullshit,” Rumi hissed. “Hunters are trained to feel your kind.”

“And yet,” Mr Rak said with a slight tilt of his head, “you walked through my entire building without a single twitch of your instincts.

Rumi tightened her grip on the hilt of her blade, her eyes narrowing as she studied Mr Rak. A demon billionaire who somehow ran one of the most powerful corporations in Korea, if not the world.

“You’re telling me you’ve just… been here this whole time?” she asked, disbelief sharpening her words. “In the human realm? Running a company, making Forbes lists, and no one noticed you were a demon? We didn’t notice? How is that even possible?”

Mr Rak smiled, as if she’d asked a question he’d been waiting years to hear. He stepped away from the desk, hands folded behind his back as he walked slowly back toward the massive windows overlooking the city skyline.

“Demons have kept secrets for centuries, Miss Rumi,” he said calmly. “You of all people should understand that. Not every one of us bursts through the Honmoon with snarling teeth and fire at our backs.”

His gaze swept the horizon beyond the glass, and there was something oddly reverent in his tone as he continued.

“The clever ones learn to blend in. We adapt. Shift. Invest in what the world values most — influence, money, power. And while you precious Hunters waste your efforts chasing shadows in alleyways and abandoned buildings, I built an empire.”

He turned back to her, sharp grey eyes glittering.

“Not all demons are so… theatrical.”

Jinu scoffed, his voice low and laced with irony. “Says the guy with murals, artefacts, and a skyline throne.”

Mr Rak raised a brow, amusement flickering in his silver eyes. He stepped away from the window with the calm air of someone who always had the upper hand.

“Well,” he said smoothly, “we can’t all make our mark on the human realm by debuting in a puff of pink smoke, singing a chart-topping pop song.”

Jinu’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t reply.

Rumi stared at them both, her blade still pulsing faintly in her hand, caught between the impulse to run and the gnawing need to understand.

 “So what — you’ve just been hiding in plain sight? Observing as breaches happened, as demons tore through the Honmoon, and you just watched?” Rumi’s brows furrowed, mind spinning.

Mr Rak chuckled, slow and low. “I never said I watched. I said I built. And what I built gave me access to certain… protections. Certain agreements. Not all demons seek destruction, Rumi. Some of us prefer control.”

She exchanged a look with Jinu, who didn’t speak, his jaw tight, arms still folded. That, more than anything, unsettled her. If he wasn’t arguing…

Mr Rak continued smoothly, “You ask how I’ve existed here unnoticed, and the answer is simple. I never gave you a reason to look.”

Rumi’s grip on her blade didn’t loosen, but her stance shifted ever so slightly; wary, calculating.

“You’re telling me all this like I’m not a Hunter. Like I won’t just strike you down where you stand.”

Mr Rak gave a soft, knowing laugh. “You won’t.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be so sure.”

“Oh, I am,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “Because you’re desperate, Rumi. You’re exhausted. You’re confused. You’re hungry for answers. And you came here willingly, blade or not. You want to know what’s happening to you. What’s happening between you and him.” He gestured subtly toward Jinu.

Rumi glanced at Jinu, whose expression was unreadable for once, somewhere between concern and tension. She hated that he looked guilty.

Mr Rak leaned forward slightly, folding his hands neatly on his obsidian desk, his gaze sharpening like a blade. “Because there is far more to demons, to our culture, our society, our history, than what your precious Hunters have allowed you to see. You’ve been raised in a system built on fear. And fear makes for excellent soldiers… but terrible visionaries.”

A chill settled into Rumi’s spine.

“You’ve never asked why the only stories told are of monsters,” he continued. “Why the only demons Hunters know of are the ones who make the most noise, the ones who give them something to fight. You’ve never been shown the rest of us. You weren’t allowed to look.”

Rumi swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “And you just expect me to trust you?”

“No,” Mr Rak replied easily. “I expect you to listen. Because you’ve already started to question it all, haven’t you? That doubt didn’t start with me. It started the moment you met him.” His eyes flicked to Jinu again.

Rumi’s fingers twitched on the hilt of her blade.

“You can strike me down if it makes you feel in control again,” Mr Rak said coolly, leaning back in his chair. “But it won’t stop what’s changing inside of you.”

Silence fell between them. Heavy. Loaded.

And for the first time in a long time, Rumi didn’t know if she was standing in front of an enemy… or someone holding the truth she didn’t want, but might finally need.

Rumi’s grip on the blade faltered, her arm trembling slightly as her mind whirled with too many questions and not enough answers. She stared at Mr Rak, at his perfectly composed expression, and then at Jinu—who, for once, didn’t look smug or flirtatious, but watchful. Guarded.

With a shaky breath, she finally let the blade dissolve in a shimmer of blue light, the metal vanishing as if it had never been there at all.

Mr Rak gave a slow, approving nod. “There. Much more civilised.” He gestured to the sleek, low-backed chair across from his ornate desk. “Please, sit.”

Rumi hesitated, glancing again between Jinu and Rak, but finally crossed the room, her movements stiff, and sat. The chair was far too comfortable for a man she still half-intended to stab.

Jinu drifted behind her, arms crossed loosely as he leaned against a carved wooden support column that framed the back of the room.

“You dragged me halfway across Seoul for this?” Rumi muttered under her breath, side-eyeing him.

“You’re welcome,” Jinu replied with a sarcastic, almost sickly sweet smile that didn't meet his eyes. “Would you rather be crying into your instant coffee?”

Before she could shoot something back, Mr Rak hummed thoughtfully, a knowing look in his silver gaze.

“You two have quite the dynamic. Sharp edges, frayed emotions, a thread of… something more.”

Rumi immediately tensed. “There is nothing going on.”

“Absolutely nothing,” Jinu echoed at the same time, voice dry.

Mr Rak raised a single, elegant eyebrow. “Mmm. If you say so.”

Rumi groaned under her breath. “Can we not—can we please just skip the weird soap opera commentary and get to why we’re here?”

Mr Rak’s smile sharpened ever so slightly. “Of course. You’re here because something unusual is happening. Something very few have the knowledge, or the audacity, to explain.”

Rumi sat forward slightly. “So, explain it.”

Mr Rak steepled his fingers. “From what I can tell, it appears Jinu’s soul is tethered to yours.”

She blinked. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Mr Rak said smoothly, “that when Jinu died—well, mostly died—his soul should have passed on, or returned to wherever it originated. But it didn’t. It clung to something. Or rather, someone.”

Rumi’s stomach dropped. “Me.”

He inclined his head. “You.”

“That’s not exactly… helpful,” she muttered.

Mr Rak chuckled. “Souls are fickle, Hunter. They don’t follow rules the way you’ve been taught. They aren’t tidy. They bend to forces older than logic—grief, love, fury, loyalty. Sometimes… desperation. And sometimes, they find an anchor.”

Rumi tilted her head to the side, curious. “So… I’m his anchor?”

“It appears so.”

Jinu looked away, jaw tight. Rumi stared at the desk, her hands clenching in her lap.

“But why me?” she finally asked, her voice small, raw. “Why would his soul pick me?”

A smile ghosted across Mr Rak’s lips, sharp, almost amused. “That should be obvious to both of you.”

When neither responded, he simply gave a soft laugh, reclining slightly in his chair.

“No matter. You’ll catch up eventually.”

Jinu’s voice broke the silence that had settled over the office. “Is there a way to untether souls?”

His tone was measured, but not casual. Rumi felt her chest tighten at the question, an emotion flickering just beneath the surface, too vague and fragile to name. Sadness, maybe. Or something dangerously close to it. She didn’t linger on the feeling. Didn’t let it rise.

Mr Rak’s silver eyes gleamed with interest. “There is. Theoretically, anyway.”

Rumi looked at him sharply. “Theoretically?”

“Tethers are not exactly common,” Mr Rak said, lacing his fingers together. “Nor are they widely documented. Most souls pass on, as they should. But in rare cases, very rare cases, the soul anchors to another. When that happens, the body, deprived of its essence, typically decays. But Jinu’s situation… is unique.”

Jinu tilted his head. “Because my body didn’t decay.”

“Because it returned,” Mr Rak replied smoothly. “Most likely to the Demon Realm. You were never a full resident of this world, not really. When your soul refused to pass on, your demon body would’ve been pulled back to where it was forged.”

“So, it’s still there?” Jinu pressed. “My body?”

Mr Rak gave a small nod. “That would be my educated guess. And yes, it’s entirely possible to reunite the two.”

Silence stretched between them.

“But,” Mr Rak continued, “as long as your soul is tethered to Rumi’s, you’re bound to her. You can’t stray far. You’ve already noticed this, haven’t you?”

Jinu exhaled, jaw tightening. “Yeah. I figured that much.”

“So,” Mr Rak said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, “if you want your body back, the two of you will need to go to the Demon Realm. Together.”

Rumi blinked. “What?”

Jinu’s entire presence recoiled. “Absolutely not. I am not taking her there.”

“I can make my own decisions,” Rumi snapped, rounding on him.

“You don’t know what it’s like there, Rumi,” he snapped back. “That place—it’s not built for humans. It eats them alive. Literally.”

“I’m not just some clueless human,” she shot back, heat rising in her chest. “I’ve been hunting demons since I was a teenager—”

“Hunting them,” Jinu interrupted, sharp. “Not walking through their front door.”

That stung. More than she expected.

Rumi drew in a breath, shoulders tense. “I’m used to stopping demons from coming out of the Honmoon. Not… going into it. And how would we even do that?” she added, turning to Mr Rak.

Mr Rak’s lips curled. “Ah, but the Honmoon isn’t as impenetrable as you’ve been led to believe. There are ways. Hidden paths. Agreements long forgotten by your Hunter ancestors. The world is not as black and white as they like to paint it.”

Rumi narrowed her eyes. “You still haven’t said why you’re even helping us. What do you get out of this?”

The ancient demon gave a soft laugh, eyes half-lidded with something unreadable.

“I’m old, my dear. Very old. And with age comes power, yes, but also a kind of… boredom. Curiosity. I’ve lived long enough to see patterns repeat. But you two?” He looked between them with amusement. “You are not a pattern I’ve seen before.”

Rumi crossed her arms, not liking how that sounded.

Mr Rak merely leaned back in his chair, utterly at ease. “I want to see what happens when a half-Hunter, half-demon, and a tethered demon soul walk willingly into the jaws of the unknown.” He smiled, wicked and brilliant. “Think of it as… entertainment.”

Rumi stiffened, her arms still crossed over her chest. “I’m not some tool for your amusement,” she said, her voice low, laced with contempt. “You don’t get to use me for your entertainment.”

Mr Rak smiled. “Ah, but I never said use, dear girl. Merely observe. But if that doesn’t sit well with you…” He stood, slow and graceful, and extended one elegant hand across the desk toward her. “We can always do this the old-fashioned way. A deal.”

Rumi didn’t have time to react.

Jinu moved like a flash, stepping forward from where he’d been standing near the back of the room. His presence crackled with sudden intensity, his voice sharp and unwavering.

“Don’t touch her,” he growled. “There will be no deal.”

Mr Rak merely chuckled, lowering his hand with a nonchalant shrug. “Demons can be so possessive of what they think is theirs.”

Jinu bristled, but did not reply, the air around him crackling with tension.

“As it stands,” Mr Rak continued, smooth as silk, “I’ll look into a few… avenues. Passage to the Demon Realm is not simple, but it’s not impossible either. Especially for someone like me.” He glanced toward Rumi, noting the flicker of hesitation in her gaze, the tightness in her stance. “Still not sure, are you?”

Rumi said nothing.

“No matter. I’ll give you time to discuss it—” he gestured between her and Jinu “—together. Work out all the kinks.” He winked.

Jinu practically snarled.

Mr Rak laughed again, clearly entertained by the reaction, and stepped around the desk toward her. With the same unsettling elegance, he plucked a sleek, matte black business card from a silver holder and handed it to Rumi.

His fingers didn’t brush hers, but it still made her skin prickle.

“My number,” he said. “Call me when you’ve made your decision. No pressure.” His eyes gleamed like molten silver. “After all, I’ve got all the time in the world.”

And with that, he turned his back on them, returning to the massive window overlooking the city, just as Rumi felt the weight of the card settle in her palm.

It was heavier than it should’ve been.

Just like everything else in her life lately.

Chapter Text

Rumi stormed out of the Rakheon Group building without a word, her feet pounding furiously against the polished marble of the lobby. She didn’t look back. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even glance at Jinu as he floated alongside her like a shadow.

Jinu, however, had no intention of letting the silence linger.

“So…” he said, tone light, “that went well, don’t you think?”

She didn’t answer.

“Come on, admit it. You’ve got to at least appreciate the man’s aesthetic. That office? Very on-brand for a demon.”

Still nothing.

“You’re really committing to the whole ‘silent treatment’ thing, huh? Should I be flattered, or terrified?”

More silence. The Seoul streets buzzed around them, cars honking, phones ringing, people bustling, but Rumi’s expression was locked into a grim scowl, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

“Fine, fine,” Jinu muttered, glancing over at her. “You know, this thing between us would be so much easier if you weren’t so damn stubborn and—”

“I trusted you!” Rumi snapped, finally whirling around.

The volume of her voice cracked through the busy sidewalk, turning more than a few heads. A nearby businessman paused mid-call. Two passers-by stared. She could feel the attention burning holes into her skin.

Rumi hissed through her teeth, pivoted sharply, and ducked down a narrow alleyway between two towering buildings, the shadows swallowing her whole.

Jinu followed.

“What the hell,” she spat, rounding on him, “would possess you to not tell me any of that beforehand?”

“I was going to—”

“When, Jinu?” Her voice was ragged now, not angry—hurt. “When I was already standing in front of him? When he started talking about tethers and souls and dragging me to the Demon Realm?!”

Jinu looked sheepish. “I figured… if I told you, you wouldn’t come.”

“No shit!”

The words echoed off the graffiti-lined alley walls. Rumi let out a shaky breath, hands clenching at her sides. Her heart was hammering, but it wasn’t just from fury.

It was from betrayal.

That same sinking sensation, like when he’d left her at the Idol Awards. Like when she’d believed him, even back then, only to feel the ground crumble beneath her feet.

She hated that she’d trusted him so easily again. Hated how natural it had felt to fall back into their rhythm, their old banter. To let herself believe he was on her side this time.

She hated that she still wanted to believe it.

“You keep doing this,” she said, voice lower now. “You keep keeping things from me. You act like you’re protecting me, but you’re not. You’re just deciding what I do or don’t deserve to know.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did, Jinu! You did it again!”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The hum of the city faded under the weight of her words.

Rumi turned away, pressing her palm to her forehead, trying to push down the sting behind her eyes. It was too much. Too fast. She wasn’t just overwhelmed, she was fraying.

Jinu hovered behind her in silence, his form flickering faintly in the half-light of the alley. Even in spirit, he looked smaller somehow.

Sadder.

Rumi braced her hands against the cool brick of the alley wall, dragging in a slow, trembling breath. Her thoughts were spiralling faster than she could keep up.

“How the hell am I supposed to figure out how to get to the Demon Realm?” she muttered, mostly to herself, but of course, Jinu heard.

“We’re not going to the Demon Realm,” he shot back, voice sharper than she expected.

She turned to him, eyes wide. “And what other option do we have, Jinu? Huh? We can’t just… stay like this. I can’t live with a half-corporeal version of you stuck to my soul!”

“So, we just what? March straight into the place you were raised to fear, to fight against?”

“I don’t know!” she shouted. “I don’t know, okay? But you heard Rak, your body’s probably there. And if we ever want to undo this, fix whatever this tether is—then yeah, maybe we have to go.”

The silence that followed was heavy. But Rumi wasn’t done.

She ran a hand through her hair, pacing the alley like it could help her think.

“How the hell am I even going to explain this to Mira? Or Zoey? Like, hey, guys! Guess what? I’m suddenly soul-bound to the dead demon pop star we fought against, and now I need to portal-jump into a hell dimension. Cool, right?”

Jinu’s expression darkened.

“Who cares what they think?” he snapped. “If they were really your friends, they wouldn’t have left you when you were falling apart.”

That stopped her cold.

She turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “Don’t.”

“It’s true.”

“No,” she said sharply, pointing at him. “Don’t you dare stand there and pretend you know what happened.”

“I do know what happened, Rumi,” he said, voice rising. “I felt it. Whatever tethered link we have? I was there when you cracked. When you pulled me out of whatever void I was in. That wasn’t grief. That wasn’t some passing dream. That was you. Breaking. Calling out.”

Rumi looked away, her jaw clenched. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—acknowledge that.

So, she pivoted, circling back to the safer argument. “Mira’s dad is sick,” she said. “She has enough on her plate without worrying about me.”

“And Zoey?” Jinu asked, folding his arms.

“She hadn’t been back to America in years. It was obvious she missed it. That she wanted—needed—to go. I’m not going to make her feel guilty for that.”

Jinu scoffed. “Right. Because guilt is such a foreign concept to you.”

She flinched.

He regretted the jab instantly, but the damage was done.

Rumi flinched at the low blow, her jaw tightening. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t back down. “Real friends would’ve seen what was happening to you. They wouldn’t have just… left. Not when you were falling apart at the seams.”

Her voice cracked like a whip. “God, do you hear yourself? That’s such a selfish mindset, Jinu.”

Jinu’s eyes narrowed.

He snapped back, but the words came out like venom turned inward. “Yeah? Well maybe that’s fitting. I’ve always been selfish.”

Rumi blinked, startled by the bitterness in his voice.

He kept going, sharp and scathing, but the target was clearly himself. “I left my mother and sister behind without a second thought. I knew exactly what I was doing. I chose it. I didn’t even hesitate.”

The air between them felt tight, like the tether binding them was thrumming under strain.

Rumi’s anger began to ebb, slowly overtaken by something heavier—something like empathy, or sorrow. She could see it now: the shame curled beneath his smirk, the guilt buried under bravado.

And for a long, painful heartbeat, she didn’t say anything.

Then, she pressed on, anger and hurt bleeding together in her voice. “You think just because someone’s struggling, the people around them should drop everything? Forget their own lives? Their own families? You think Mira doesn’t have enough to carry with her dad sick? That Zoey didn’t deserve time back in a country she hasn’t set foot in for years?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Rumi’s voice softened, but didn’t lose its edge. “They love me. I know they do. But they’re allowed to want things too. And you don’t get to measure their care by how tightly they cling when I’m at my worst.”

Jinu scoffed. “So now we’re measuring care by how far someone’s willing to run after you?”

Rumi’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not what this is. It’s not the same as you leaving your family behind.”

That hit harder than she expected.

Jinu’s mouth twitched, something like pain flashing across his face before he masked it again. But the bitterness bled through his voice anyway.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “Of course it’s not the same.”

Then, more biting—whether at himself, or her, Rumi couldn’t tell.  

“I was selfish long before this. Long before you. When I left my mother. My sister. I convinced myself it was for something greater, but it wasn’t. It was just me, chasing power, chasing escape. I didn’t look back.”

Rumi’s anger faltered, cracking around the edges as she looked at him, really looked at him. Not as a demon or a ghost or a tethered soul, but as someone who was still grieving himself. Someone who, for all his teasing and charm, hadn’t really forgiven the boy he used to be.

Rumi exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself. She reached out—not physically, but with words, with something close to empathy.

“Jinu… I didn’t mean to twist the knife. You’re not selfish. You made a mistake, did what you thought you had to do, back then. We all carry things like that.”

But Jinu’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening. Whatever softness she’d tried to offer him, it only seemed to trigger something harder in return.

“Oh, please,” he snapped, his voice suddenly razor-sharp. “Don’t pity me, Rumi. You’re one to talk about carrying things.”

She froze.

“You’ve spent your whole life running from what you are,” he went on, voice rising. “Hiding the best parts of yourself because someone told you it was wrong. Living in fear of your own power, of your own grief. You think I’m selfish? At least I feel things.”

Rumi’s breath caught, but he wasn’t done.

“You never even let yourself grieve me. Not really. Not when it happened. Not when Mira and Zoey left. You just shut down, like you always do. Smiled and nodded and pretended to be fine while everything inside you twisted itself into knots.”

“Jinu—” her voice trembled, but he talked right over her.

“You were already pushing them away before they left. Falling back into those old habits. You try to act like they didn’t abandon you, but you built the wall first.”

His words landed like shrapnel, sharp and unrelenting. And the worst part, what made her chest ache, was that some of it rang horribly true.

She turned her face away, blinking hard. The pressure behind her eyes was hot and fast.

Jinu faltered, the anger draining from his features all at once. His next word came out softer, remorse curling behind it.

“Rumi—”

But she didn’t want to hear it.

“Don’t,” she said, voice cracking. “I wish you’d just leave me alone.”

His lips parted, as if to say something more, but instead he just gave her a tight, bitter smile.

“I would if I could, princess.”

Her chest tightened. Something twisted in her gut at the nickname that used to sound playful. Now it just felt cruel.

But something Rak had said echoed in her mind, that there were limits to how far apart the tether could stretch.

Her jaw set. A flicker of defiance hardened behind her eyes.

Fine. If Jinu wanted to push, she’d push back.

Her expression hardened. Her voice low and cold.

“Then maybe it’s time we tested just how far you can get,” she said, venom trembling behind every word. “Let’s find out just how far apart this tether lets us go.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and stormed off down the alley, not looking back.

~

The worst part about being this angry at Jinu wasn’t the yelling.

It wasn’t even the way he’d looked at her, hollow and sharp and too full of hurt he clearly didn’t know what to do with.

No. The worst part was that even now, hours after she had stormed away, putting distance between them, Rumi could still feel him.

The tether between them pulsed, faint but persistent, like a second heartbeat under her skin. A flicker of emotion curled down the bond, not her own—raw, splintered things that made her throat tighten. Guilt. Regret. Something deeper, darker. Shame?

She pressed her fingers to her temples. It was almost like trying to ignore a migraine that pulsed with someone else’s feelings.

“God, get out of my head,” she muttered under her breath.

Rumi could have gone home.

She could have walked back to her pristine penthouse, curled up in bed, and pretended the world didn’t exist. But the thought of stepping into that empty space, of feeling everyone’s absence and presence all at once, made something hollow stretch inside her chest.

So instead, she wandered.

Not through the crowded streets, not where the buzz of neon lights and the press of strangers could reach her. She took to the rooftops, slipping through fire escapes and private balconies, rooftiles still warm beneath her boots as she roamed above the city.

Up here, the noise dulled. The city shrank. And still, it wasn’t quiet—not really.

Not when Jinu’s voice still echoed in her mind, sharp and brutal and too honest.

You’ve gone your whole life not feeling anything… You never even really let yourself grieve me.

The words grated against her ribcage like broken glass.

She didn’t want to admit how much they hurt. But they did. Gods, they did.

Because they weren’t entirely wrong.

Rumi had spent her entire life hiding. First her marks, then her pain, then every part of herself that didn’t fit the clean-cut image Huntrix needed her to be. She’d gotten so good at pretending she was fine, at shaping herself into something neat and presentable, that she sometimes believed the act herself.

And then came Jinu.

He’d always seen too much.

Not like the fans, who adored the mask. Not like her friends, who loved the version she let them see. No—Jinu had this infuriating way of peeling her open without permission. Of seeing the fear behind the anger, the grief behind the silence.

And she hated it. She hated how exposed it made her feel. How small.

He didn’t say those things just to hurt her. She knew that. He’d said them to push her away. And it had worked, at least for now.

But that didn’t change the fact that his words had struck something deep. A raw place inside her that she wasn’t sure how to name, let alone heal.

She sat down on the edge of a rooftop, legs dangling over the ledge. Below her, Seoul shimmered with life, busy and brilliant and utterly indifferent.

Up here, she could pretend, just for a moment, that she was someone else. Someone who didn’t have magical blood in her veins. Someone who hadn’t been tethered to a demon’s soul. Someone who didn’t feel like she was constantly on the verge of breaking.

The wind tugged at her hair. She closed her eyes.

And even in the quiet, the tether pulsed faintly—still there. Still real.

Just like him.

Chapter Text

The sun was beginning to set, casting long, golden streaks of light across the narrow stone alleyways and tiled rooftops of the older district.

Here, the noise of modern Seoul gave way to something slower, quieter. The streets were lined with hanok houses, their curved roofs silhouetted against the amber sky, and flickering lanterns began to glow as dusk crept in. The scent of incense drifted lazily from an open doorway, blending with the faint aroma of roasted chestnuts from a vendor packing up for the night.

Rumi’s boots echoed softly on the uneven path beneath her. She didn’t know where she was going, not really. Her feet moved on their own while her thoughts tangled in a loop she couldn’t unravel.

She couldn’t live like this forever.

Tethered to Jinu. Bound by something neither of them fully understood.

The weight of it pressed heavy in her chest. The idea of venturing to the Demon Realm clawed at the edges of her mind, unthinkable and yet... inevitable.

She’d spent her life trained to fight demons, to keep them from entering this world. Not to walk willingly into theirs. Not to save one.

But how else could this end? Jinu couldn’t go on like this, floating through her world like a memory stuck in amber. She couldn’t go on like this, either; constantly feeling his presence humming beneath her skin, never able to touch him.

She turned a corner into a quieter stretch of road. The sun dipped lower, setting the city alight with hues of rose gold and deep violet. The rooftops burned with the last rays of the day.

It would have been beautiful, if not for the sudden shift in the air.

A low snarl cracked the silence, and before Rumi could fully react, something slammed into her side, sending her crashing into a stack of old wooden crates. Pain bloomed across her ribs as she hit the ground hard, breath forced from her lungs.

She coughed, eyes wide, instinct already kicking in. Her blade summoned itself to her hand in a flash of light just as the creature lunged again.

It was fast, inhumanly so, its limbs elongated, distorted, twisted into something that once might have mimicked a person but now bore only a passing resemblance. Its mouth gaped open in a too-wide grin, teeth jagged and glistening with black ichor.

Rumi gritted her teeth, slashing upward with her blade just in time to deflect a clawed strike aimed at her throat. Sparks flew where their energies collided.

Whatever this demon was, it was strong. And worse—it had been waiting.

She stumbled back, heart pounding, breath ragged.

It wasn’t a random attack.

This thing had come for her, and Rumi hadn’t felt it.

No crack, no tremor, no tear in the Honmoon.

And that was the first thing that sent her spinning.

Because something this strong, something that could slam into her with such force and ferocity, should have registered. Should have screamed across the lines of energy she'd spent years honing herself to sense. But there had been nothing.

No warning.

No sign.

Only chaos.

She barely had time to process it. Her breath came shallow, uneven, blade gripped tight in her hand as she ducked a swipe of claws that tore through the air just inches from her cheek.

“Sloppy,” the demon hissed, its voice wet and gurgling, too many layers folded beneath the sound.

It prowled in a circle around her, elongated limbs twitching with barely contained energy, it’s too-wide grin carved unnaturally across a cracked face.

“I can taste it,” it crooned. “That sour little ache in your soul. Mmm… betrayal. Misery. You’re ripe with it.”

Rumi’s pulse spiked, rage flickering to life in her gut, but the swing of her blade was too wide, too rushed. The demon ducked beneath it effortlessly, chuckling.

“That fear of the unknown... such a flavour,” it said, slithering closer with grotesque grace. “You don’t even know what you’re scared of most, do you?”

“Shut up,” Rumi spat, panting.

But it didn’t.

It leaned in, voice low, intimate. “You stink of uncertainty. You thought you’d mastered yourself, little Hunter. But I see it. I feel it. And I want more of it.”

Rumi lunged, sparks dancing off her blade as it collided with its claw, but her movement was too frantic, her rhythm broken. The demon barely flinched, pushing her backward with brute force.

Her shoulder slammed into a wall. Pain rippled through her.

Focus, she told herself. Get it together.

She tried to summon her demon energy, tried to pull on that well of power that pulsed inside her chest, but it slipped through her fingers like water. Slippery. Unfocused.

The thing’s words were sinking too deep, bleeding into her mind like poison.

“I wish you didn’t have to come,” the demon muttered, more to itself than to her. “I wish I could feast on your soul, let you scream and tremble as I devoured every last drop of that hurt… but no. I was told to bring you. Intact.” Its grin widened, fangs catching the fading light. “Shame.”

“Wh-who sent you?” Rumi demanded, trying to shake off the dizziness.

The demon didn’t answer.

It moved fast.

Too fast.

Its hand clamped around her wrist, tightening with impossible force, and before she could twist away, she was flung to the ground with bone-jarring weight. Her blade skittered out of reach.

Rumi groaned, forcing herself up onto her elbow, fury boiling just beneath her skin, but she couldn’t centre herself, couldn’t call her strength.

Because it was right.

She was off. She was spiralling. Jinu’s words, his scathing honesty, the fight, the tether—everything. It had left her wide open.

Wide open for this.

And now, she was paying the price.

The demon loomed over her now, crouched and twitching like it could barely contain the chaos writhing beneath its skin. Its body was made of too many angles, as if it had been put together wrong and then stretched further by something crueller than time.

“Such an odd scent,” it murmured, sniffing the air above her like a hound. “Starlight and shadow… like something once precious that broke. I can practically taste it. It hums like a struck chord. Discordant. Mismatched. Delicious.”

Rumi’s heart pounded. Her breath came fast. And for the first time in a long time—too long—she realised she was afraid. Not of dying.

Not of pain.

But of this, whatever this was. The confusion. The fractured energy. The intent.

The demon leaned close, too close, its breath like frost and ash, clawed fingers twitching above her chest as though tasting the heat of her heartbeat through the air.

“Mmm…” it purred, voice sticky and strange, like oil in water. “Just a taste. Barely a sip. You’ve got something rare in there, little Hunter.”

Its long tongue darted out; not quite touching, just… hovering. A mockery of intimacy.

Its grin widened. “I wish you didn’t have to come with me. I really do. I’d rather feast on you right here. You’re ripe. So much ache. So much wanting. But I’ve got orders.”

Rumi gritted her teeth and tried to push back, but her limbs felt like they were moving through syrup. Her body was slow, sluggish, her thoughts swimming through fog. Something was wrong. Something was missing.

“No need to be afraid,” the demon murmured, though there was laughter behind the words. “Not when you already reek of misery and betrayal. Of fear disguised as strength. Mmm, delightful.”

Her stomach twisted.

I’m not afraid of you, she wanted to snap, but her throat was too dry, too tight.

Then, beneath the chaos, something stirred.

A pull. A flicker. A thread.

It was there, woven through her ribs like starlight, like a silk cord dipped in fire. She hadn’t meant to reach for it, hadn’t even known she was calling out, but it answered anyway. A deep hum of resonance bloomed in her chest, subtle as breath, loud as a drum.

And it responded like a living thing.

Not just a bond, but a current. A thrum. A heartbeat that wasn’t hers.

A presence, curling toward her from some distant, unseen place. She could feel it now, coiling through her spirit, tightening, threading light through her shadows. The connection roared like blood in her ears.

The demon froze. Sniffed.

Then it grinned.

“Ohhhh,” it cooed, delighted. “Well, that explains it.”

Rumi reached inward, searching for that invisible thread that had twisted into her chest like a second heartbeat. It was always there—quiet, pulsing, a warmth she couldn’t shake.

Now she grabbed it, tugging hard.

The thread thrummed in response. A soundless vibration, like air pressure shifting. A ripple across her senses.

And then—

Boom.

A shockwave of silvery-blue energy exploded outward, slamming into the demon and hurling it backward, its body cracking against the far alley wall with a snarl of pain.

A figure stood between them now.

Half-light, half-form.

Jinu.

His eyes glowed a brilliant blue, narrowed with fury, and there was something new in the way his presence burned. He turned his head slightly, gaze flicking down to Rumi, checking her—protecting her.

Then he faced the demon again.

“Step. Back.”

The demon pushed itself to its feet, hissing, clearly rattled. Its gaze flicked between them.

“Tethered…” it breathed, reverent and giddy. “How quaint. The bond sings. The soul-shard moves. This wasn’t in the plan.”

Its head tilted violently, almost upside down as it stared at her like an unwrapped secret. It giggled; a high, jittery sound that cracked at the edges.

“But to him? Oh, girl. That’s a mess waiting to happen. A beautiful, broken mess.”

Jinu didn’t reply. He stepped forward, the air around him humming with power, blue threads of ethereal force cracking through the space with each motion.

“You don’t get to touch her,” he growled.

The demon grinned, cracked jaw widening too far. “Not yet. Not now. But soon.” It took a step back, eyes still flickering across Jinu’s form. “Very soon.”

With a lurching twist of its body, it vanished in a flicker of shadows, melting into the stone beneath the alley with a sickening, slurping sound.

Rumi lay there for a beat, stunned, breath ragged in her throat. She pressed a hand to her chest, where the tether still buzzed beneath her skin like a live wire.

She hated how comforted she felt by it.

Jinu turned and dropped to his knees beside her, hands hovering like he wanted to touch her, even though they both knew he couldn’t.

“Rumi?” he asked softly.

Her fingers trembled as they clutched her side, voice low and shaking. “What the hell was that?”

The sunset stretched the alley in long shadows, dipping the old brick walls in amber and violet.

Jinu frowned, arms folded. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “But it knew, somehow. The demon. It could sense it, the tether between us.”

Rumi leaned against the cold brick wall of the alleyway, her breaths still sharp and uneven as she tried to slow her racing heart. She could still feel the echo of the demon’s laughter in her bones.

“It said… it wanted to take me somewhere,” she said, still catching her breath.

Jinu, still glowing faintly, hovered near but didn’t move closer, his brow furrowed. “Take you where?”

“I don’t know. That’s the thing—it didn’t make any sense. It was talking in circles. Kept saying it wished it didn’t have to take me, that it wanted to devour me instead, but had... orders. Like someone sent it.”

Jinu’s eyes darkened. “This is what I get for leaving you alone.”

Rumi’s gaze snapped to his. “Excuse me?”

He rose from where he had been crouching before her, arms folding. “You storm off like you always do—”

“Because you pushed me!” she fired back. “You lashed out, so yeah, I left! I needed space.”

“And look how that turned out,” he said, bitter. “You almost got taken by something that shouldn’t even be here.”

“Oh, so this is my fault now?” she snapped.

He gave her a sharp look. “You could’ve teleported out of the demon’s path. Why didn’t you?”

“Because I couldn’t!” she yelled, finally breaking. “I tried. But I was too disoriented. Too... I don’t know. Off balance. It got into my head.”

Jinu stepped in front of her, arms crossed, jaw tight. “You need to learn how to control your demon powers.”

Rumi barked a bitter laugh as she rose to her feet on shaky legs. “Oh, right. And where exactly am I supposed to do that? You think there’s a demon training program I can sign up for? Maybe a weekend workshop.”

Jinu didn’t flinch. “I can train you.”

She blinked at him, caught off guard for half a second—then the scowl returned just as quickly. “Yeah. No thanks.”

“I’m serious,” he said, voice low but steady. “You’re flailing out there. You could’ve died tonight—”

“I know that!” she snapped, cutting him off. “I don’t need you to rub it in.”

“Then let me help.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Right. Of course. Because God forbid you ever owe me something.”

She glared at him. “It’s not about owing you. It’s about not trusting you.”

A beat passed between them, heavy and loaded. Jinu’s mouth opened like he wanted to say something, something honest, but whatever it was, he swallowed it back. When he spoke again, the edge was back in his tone.

“Fine. Don’t trust me. Let’s make a deal instead.”

Her eyebrows shot up, incredulous. “A deal?”

“You seem more comfortable when things are transactional,” he said, voice hard and sharp. “So, we’ll keep it simple. I train you. In return, you owe me something. No trust required.”

“You’re such an arsehole,” she muttered.

“And yet, here I am—saving your life, again.”

She laughed once, hollow. “You always find a way to make everything about you.”

He shrugged. “You make it very hard to care when you throw everything back in my face.”

“Oh, right,” she bit back. “Because you offering to help me out of genuine care would be too much. Got to make it transactional so no one accidentally thinks you give a shit.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re the one who acts like accepting help means surrendering control. Like letting someone in is admitting weakness.”

“Because it is!” she burst out. “Every time I let someone in, they leave. Or die. Or get yanked back into my life tethered to my soul!”

He was quiet for a beat. Then, softly, “That wasn’t exactly my plan, you know.”

She ignored the sting behind his words. “You always have a reason, Jinu. Always a scheme, always a catch. You give just enough to keep me from walking, but never enough to stay.”

His tone turned colder. “You walked away today, remember? Not me.”

She faltered, the words hitting like a slap. He didn’t let up.

“You didn’t even try to call for me when that thing grabbed you—”

“I did!” she shouted. “Not with words. But I felt you. I tugged on that damn tether like it was a lifeline and hoped it would bring you to me.”

Something in his face softened, but she wasn’t done.

“You think this is easy for me? Having you here, feeling everything you feel like it’s bleeding through my own skin?”

He looked away. “We’re tethered by our souls, Rumi. There’s no rulebook for this.”

“No. But you don’t make it any easier.”

He stepped back; lips pressed in a thin line.

“So, let’s make it easier with deal. I’ll train you. Help you. Teach you everything I know. In return... you owe me something. A favour, whatever you want to call it. Just so we’re square.”

She stared at him like he’d grown horns. “You’re unbelievable. Everything with you is always a push and pull. You give just enough and then yank it all away.”

He shrugged. “Just trying to play by your rules, Princess.”

Rumi’s jaw clenched. She stared at him, eyes burning. “Drop the stoic, ancient demon act, Jinu. Just—drop it. You feel things. You care. So, stop pretending you don’t.”

His face flickered for the briefest moment—hurt, maybe. Then it hardened, and his voice turned cold. “Maybe you’d prefer it if I didn’t care at all.”

That was it.

“Fuck off, Jinu,” she snapped, fury flaring in her chest.

She turned away, breathing hard, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The argument had looped back on itself again—same jabs, same wounds, nothing changing. They were going in circles, tearing strips off each other and still standing in the same place.

She needed to go home.

She started walking, but paused just long enough to glance over her shoulder.

“And for the record,” she said, quieter, but no less firm, “this isn’t me running away. I’m going home. Because I want to. Not because you’ve pushed me there.”

Then she walked off into the night, ignoring the tug in her chest where that damn tether still pulsed between them.

~

The soft blue light of the TV cast flickering shadows across Rumi’s apartment walls, the K-drama playing quietly in the background.

Some overly dramatic love confession echoed through the speakers, something about fate and rain and lost time, but it barely registered in her mind. She was curled up on the couch, a blanket slung haphazardly over her legs, a half-eaten tub of ice cream melting on the coffee table.

She was trying, really trying, to distract herself.

But her thoughts kept drifting back to Jinu.

His voice still echoed in her head, sharp and biting, but layered with something else beneath the barbs. Hurt. Fear. Maybe even guilt. And the worst part was… he hadn’t been entirely wrong.

Rumi sighed and let her head fall back against the cushions.

“Ugh,” she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut.

She hated that he’d called her out so precisely. That he saw her like that—hiding, deflecting, pushing things down so deep that even she barely recognised them until they exploded.

He was reckless, stubborn, infuriating, but in his own twisted way, he cared. That’s what made it so difficult. He wasn’t just trying to make her angry. He was scared, too. She could feel it in that damn tether, still humming faintly inside her chest.

If they were going to be tethered like this—linked by something as wild and ancient as a soul bond, then maybe they needed to stop treating each other like enemies on opposite sides of the same battlefield.

Maybe… maybe they needed to actually try.

Rumi tugged the blanket closer around herself, her gaze drifting toward the ceiling, but her focus was somewhere far beyond it.

She didn’t know how to talk to him, not without everything turning into a clash of fire and flint. But she also didn’t want to keep repeating the same fight over and over until it burned them both to ash.

There had to be another way.

The flicker of streetlights through her window mixed with the dim glow of the screen as her eyes grew heavier.

She hadn’t meant to doze, just rest her eyes for a moment, but the exhaustion pulled at her, gentle and insistent. As her breathing slowed and her muscles loosened into the couch, one last thought drifted through her foggy mind:

We need to learn how to do this—together. Or we’ll destroy each other before we ever figure any of it out.

And then the tether pulsed softly once more, warm and strange and inexplicably tender, lulling her into sleep.

~

The low hum of the television greeted Rumi as her eyes fluttered open.

The room was dim except for the screen’s flickering light, casting a pale blue glow across the walls. Some overly dramatic war scene was playing now—horses galloping, swords clashing, all underscored by an orchestral swell that felt far too intense for the small living room.

She blinked and shifted slightly and froze.

Jinu was there, sitting beside her on the opposite end couch. His spectral form was half-leaning against the cushions, legs kicked up like he belonged there, his arms folded loosely as he stared at the screen with a faintly unimpressed expression.

“You know,” he said quietly, not even looking at her yet, “these period pieces are wildly inaccurate. Half the hairstyles are wrong, the sword forms are atrocious, and the politics are laughably oversimplified. It’s no wonder you fell asleep.”

Rumi groaned softly and rubbed her face with both hands. “You’re so old.”

He finally turned to look at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Only when I’m reminiscing about things I actually lived through.”

She snorted despite herself and sat up slowly, dragging the blanket back over her shoulders. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary, taking in the way he was here again, like nothing had happened. But the silence that followed was heavier than before, filled with all the things they hadn’t said.

They both opened their mouths at the same time.

“I’m—”

“Listen, I—”

They stopped, eyes meeting. A beat passed.

“You go first,” Jinu said, gesturing with a vague wave of his hand.

“No,” Rumi said, shaking her head gently. “You first.”

He hesitated. Then, with a sigh, sat up straighter, rubbing the back of his neck like he still hadn’t gotten used to being a spirit with form.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he said, voice low and quieter than she’d expected. “About your friends. About you. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, not really. I just…” He looked away, gaze drifting toward the TV without seeing it. “I still carry a lot of shame. From what I did. What I became. What I let happen. And sometimes it bubbles up and twists itself into anger or bitterness and it just—spills out.”

His voice wavered slightly before he steadied it. “When I gave myself up for you… I never thought I’d keep going, Rumi. I didn’t think there would be an after. So, I never prepared for it. I wasn’t supposed to linger. And I sure as hell didn’t expect to be tethered to you like some celestial mistake.”

The air between them thickened again, the weight of that unspoken word, sacrifice, resting between them like a ghost of its own.

“I don’t know how to make any of this right,” he said finally. “But I’m sorry. For the words I threw at you. And for not telling you about Rak, sooner. I was just… scared. Of what you'd think. Of what I might see in your eyes if you looked at me like I was still that person.”

Rumi didn’t speak at first. She just looked at him, expression unreadable, chest tightening with something hot and tangled and old.

There was so much she could say—about what it meant to have someone who could see right through her masks, about how the truth he’d flung at her had hurt because it was true, about how this tether had bound them so unexpectedly together, and about how, no matter how much he annoyed her, she didn’t want to lose him again.

Instead, she exhaled and quietly said, “Thank you. For saying that.”

The moment hung between them, gentler now, less fragile. Like something was shifting ever so slightly in the space that had once only held fire and friction.

And for the first time in a long time, Rumi didn’t feel like she was bearing the weight of everything on her own.

Rumi pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them as she watched the television flicker meaninglessly in the background. Her voice, when it came, was soft. Hesitant.

“I’m sorry too.”

Jinu blinked, eyes shifting toward her again.

“What you said…” she continued, “you weren’t wrong. I just… wasn’t ready to hear it. I didn’t want to accept that you were gone. Even after everything, even after I saw what happened—I just kept pretending you might come back. That maybe I’d wake up one day and it would’ve all been some twisted dream.”

She glanced sideways at him, at the soft ethereal glow of his form beside her. “And now you’re here. Like this. Not gone, but not really… back, either. It’s thrown me for a loop.”

Jinu didn’t respond right away, and she didn’t need him to. She was already pushing forward, needing to say the rest before it curdled inside her.

“If we’re going to figure this out, what’s happening to us, how to fix it, we need to work together. No more keeping each other at arm’s length. No more pushing and pulling like it’s a game. I want to help you. Because you deserve to live and be free, Jinu. You’ve earned it.”

Her voice cracked slightly at the end, and she swallowed it back.

“I think we need to go to the demon realm,” she said. “We need to find your body.”

Jinu let out a long breath through his nose and leaned back against the couch. “Yeah,” he said, almost reluctantly. “Yeah, I think we do too.”

Silence passed again, but it felt softer now. Shared.

Rumi tugged the blanket up over her lap and looked at him. “While we wait for Rak to find us a way in, maybe we… work together? You train me. Help me figure out what the hell I am now. And… I’ll accept your deal.”

Jinu tilted his head, frowning. “I don’t want to make a deal.”

She blinked.

He smirked, the edge of playfulness back in his tone. “Why don’t we call it… an agreement instead? If I teach you how to use your demon powers and tell you more about the Demon Realm, then you have to show me around the human world.”

Rumi raised a brow. “What, like a supernatural sightseeing tour?”

“Exactly,” he said with a grin. “Between being an idol, visiting you and reporting to Gwi-Ma, I barely got to experience it properly. I want to see what I missed.”

Rumi smiled despite herself.

“That actually sounds… nice.” She stuck out her hand instinctively. “Deal.”

Jinu mirrored the motion, reaching to shake it—only for both of them to stop, hovering inches apart, remembering that they couldn’t. They stared at their hands, the space between them, and then—

There it was.

A gentle thrumming. A strange warmth. Like pressure without touch, like static wrapped in silk. The tether between them, invisible yet undeniably present, humming softly as their hands hovered in the space that separated them, and yet somehow connected them.

They both stilled, caught in it. Not moving. Just feeling.

Rumi’s lips quirked up. “We’re a mess.”

“Yeah,” Jinu murmured, smiling back. “But maybe we’re a mess with a plan.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Rumi felt something stir in the hollow space that had settled inside her, not the cold ache of loneliness, but the slow, tentative warmth of connection.

Like ice beginning to thaw after a long, bitter winter, welcoming the fresh blooms of spring.

Chapter Text

The thing that irked Rumi the most about demons wasn’t their sharp teeth, or the way they stole and consumed souls, nor was it the fact that she’d spent her entire life fighting them—only now wondering if there might have been a better way.

No, it was something else entirely.

What truly got under her skin was their endless, cryptic smugness.

Now, having decided to venture into the Demon Realm together, there was one inevitable truth: they would need the help of one particularly enigmatic, endlessly smug demon billionaire. And while Rumi knew they didn’t have much choice, the idea of asking such a demon for help still made her feel slimy.

After a brief, cryptic call to Mr Rak that yielded more questions than answers, Rumi had been left exactly where she didn’t want to be — in limbo.

“I’ll be in touch when the time is right,” he had said, voice smooth and unreadable. “Until then, I suggest you both prepare.”

And that was it.

No timeline, no explanation. Just those ominous words and the ghost of a smirk she could still hear in his tone.

So, with nothing better to do than wait, and knowing full well that sitting idle would drive her insane, she and Jinu had agreed to start training. If they were going to walk into the Demon Realm together, she figured she might as well learn how to wield the part of herself she’d spent years denying.

Now, the familiar thrum of her home gym hummed around her: the soft buzz of neon lights, the padded flooring beneath her feet, and the faint scent of incense she always burned before training. She stood in the middle of the mirrored room, barefoot, arms crossed, trying not to look as nervous as she felt.

“You know,” Rumi muttered, eyeing him, “you could at least pretend this is difficult for you too.”

“I would,” Jinu replied lazily, “but then I’d be lying. And I’m trying this new thing where I don’t lie to you anymore. Growth, you know.”

She rolled her eyes, but a flicker of amusement tugged at her mouth. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Teleportation 101,” he said, drifting down until his feet touched the floor. “Or, as I like to call it, ‘getting your ass to point B without dying in the process.’”

“Reassuring.”

Jinu smirked. “You’re welcome.”

Rumi exhaled, centring herself, trying to feel for that current of power inside her. The part that wasn’t entirely human. She’d used her demon energy before, in bursts. In emergencies. But deliberately controlling it? That was new territory.

And yet, as she closed her eyes, all she could feel was the tether, the quiet pulse of Jinu’s presence, like a guiding thread coiled around her ribs.

“You’ll want to find a fixed point to focus on,” Jinu said, suddenly serious. “Somewhere in the room. Picture it in your mind. Anchor to it. Then… pull.”

She nodded once, jaw tight with concentration, eyes snapping open to focus on the opposite corner of the gym.

“Ready?” Jinu asked.

“Not even remotely.”

“Perfect. Now jump.”

And she did. Or… tried to.

With a sudden crackle of energy and a faint pop, the air around her shimmered in that red mist, and Rumi vanished.

Sort of.

She reappeared half a second later — upside down, six feet above the ground, and very much not in the corner she’d aimed for.

“Shit—!”

Her back slammed into a resistance band rig with a loud metallic clang, arms flailing before gravity remembered what it was supposed to do and dropped her straight onto the mats in a heap.

Jinu didn’t laugh. Not out loud, anyway.

“That,” he said, stepping over to peer down at her, “was technically teleportation.”

Rumi groaned, face mashed against the floor, her braid splayed across her shoulder like a defeated flag.

“Technically, I hate you.”

“That's fair,” he said brightly. “But be honest, did it feel a little cool? Just for a second?”

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, scowling at him. “I felt like a sock in a tumble dryer.”

“Still counts.”

“I missed the mark by an entire metre, and I was upside down.”

“Precision comes later. Right now, we’re just trying to convince your body that this is possible. And not, you know, immediate death.” Jinu offered a hand out of habit; a useless gesture, all things considered, his fingers glowing faintly with astral light.

He gave her a crooked grin. “It’s the thought that counts.”

With a snort, she rolled to her feet under her own power, brushing herself off. The contact buzz she usually felt from him being so close to her lingered faintly in the air.

Ever since the near handshake on the couch last night, that split second where her fingers had almost passed through his, Rumi had become acutely, painfully aware of Jinu’s presence whenever he was close.

Not visually, not even aurally. It was something else. Something deeper.

The air would shift around him, like it bent slightly to make space for his form. And when he drifted near, that strange energy — the one that had flared between their almost-touch — would rise against her skin like a low hum beneath her nerves.

Not warmth exactly, not pressure either, but something between. Like the sensation of walking through static. Like the echo of a memory her body hadn’t actually lived.

It didn’t hurt. But it wasn’t neutral, either. It felt charged, intimate in a way that was hard to explain. Like he was brushing past her soul rather than her skin.

And now, even when she wasn’t looking at him, she knew when he was near. Not because he spoke, or because the air whispered around his shape, but because that impossible buzz, that invisible tether, wrapped a little tighter around her ribs. Reminding her he was there.

Rising to her feet, Rumi shook out her shoulders, trying to ignore the static crawl across her skin and the way her pulse skittered in her throat.

“Wanna go again?” Jinu asked, voice light but watching her carefully.

Rumi gave a short nod, brushing hair from her face. “Yeah. I’m not stopping until I land on my feet on purpose.”

He gave a mock salute. “One reckless soul coming right up.”

They kept at it for hours. At first, it was just more of the same — half-formed jumps, crooked landings, and brief, disorienting flashes of red mist that spat her out sideways into punching bags, the mirrored wall, once even the ceiling beam. With every jump, more bruises bloomed across her arms and legs like ink spreading beneath skin. But she kept getting up.

Jinu, floating just out of reach as always, started frowning more than smirking.

“You’re going to run out of limbs to land on,” he said finally, watching her stagger up from yet another failed jump.

“I’ve got more limbs,” she muttered, wiping sweat from her brow.

“I’m saying we can take a break. Come back in an hour. Or tomorrow. Let your organs rearrange themselves.”

She shook her head, jaw set. “No. I’m close. I can feel it. Just one more — I want to get it at least once today.”

He didn’t argue, but his gaze lingered on her longer this time. Not annoyed. Just… wary.

Rumi stepped back to the centre of the gym, sucking in a slow breath. Her ribs ached. Her calves were tight. But beneath all that, the power inside her still pulsed — warm, waiting. She locked her eyes on the same point by the speaker wall. Not just visualising it, but pulling herself there, like gravity had shifted directions.

And then, without hesitation, she jumped.

Red mist swallowed her.

And then, just as fast, she was there.

Feet hitting the floor in a staggered stance. Breath hitching. Eyes wide. And this time, she landed squarely on both feet. Solid. Centred. Breath caught in her throat, heart hammering like it wanted to leap free.

She didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

“Holy shit,” she whispered.

From behind her, Jinu let out a low whistle. “Look at that. A clean jump.”

Rumi stared down at her feet, still planted firmly on the mat, her chest rising and falling like she’d just run a sprint. Then she laughed — not a small laugh either, but something surprised and delighted, sharp-edged with relief.

“I did it!” she said, spinning toward Jinu, her face breaking into a grin too big to contain. “Did you see that? I actually—!”

Without thinking, she surged forward, arms outstretched in a rush of adrenaline and triumph, ready to wrap him in a victorious hug—

And passed straight through him.

It was like stepping through a live wire.

Not cold, not weightless, but charged. A jolt of electricity laced with something deeper, older, like energy pulled taut between two magnets. The tether between them flared, bright and hot, singing across her skin and through her chest like her heartbeat had misfired. Power surged between them like a current snapping taut, wrapping around her ribcage, coiling in her chest, crashing through her skin like fire and static all at once. The tether flared, viscerally, like the space between their bodies had briefly stopped being space at all.

Her breath caught. His eyes widened.

And then it was gone.

Rumi gasped, stumbling forward, catching herself with a hand on the wall as the last of that phantom current fizzled out. Jinu hovered just a few feet away, equally stunned.

“Wh—” Rumi looked at him, dazed. “What the hell was that?”

His voice came slow, like he didn’t quite trust it. “I don’t… know. That’s never happened before.”

Her skin was still buzzing, nerves alight, like she’d touched something forbidden. Her gaze met his and she knew, in that beat of silence, he’d felt it too. The way his expression faltered. The way he wasn’t quite looking at her eyes, or her mouth, or anything at all.

“…So,” he said finally, voice lighter than it should’ve been, “hugging me is off the table unless you want to short-circuit.”

Rumi blinked, stunned for half a second more, then exhaled hard and seized the out like a lifeline. “Okay. Noted. No hugs. Anyway, back to training, I’m going to teleport again.”

“No—wait, what? Rumi—”

But she was already stomping back to the middle of the room, her face turned determinedly away from him, hoping he wouldn’t see how red her ears were.

Jinu floated after her, shaking off the moment with effort. “That’s enough near-death experiences for one day. You’ve got more bruises than unbruised bits.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, squaring her stance again. “I just got it. I can do better.”

“You seriously need to learn how to let yourself bask.”

“And you seriously need to let me ride the momentum. Just one more jump.”

He gave her a look, half fond, half exasperated. “You need to relax. Call it. Let it be a win.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Come on,” he said, grinning now, voice softening. “You’ve got a whole big wide world to show me, remember? That was the agreement. You show me around your realm; I stop lying to you.”

Rumi faltered, breath catching just a little. “…That was not the phrasing you used.”

“Close enough.” He drifted toward the door, still smiling. “So, consider this the end of class for today. Time to clock out.”

She groaned, dragging her hands through her hair. “Fine. I’m relaxing. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Jinu said, spinning lazily mid-air as he led the way out of the gym.

Rumi trailed after him, the buzz of energy still lingering beneath her skin.

He chuckled, the sound light and familiar as they reached the living room. Afternoon sun poured through the windows, gilding the air, catching dust motes in golden beams. Rumi made a beeline for the fridge, grabbed a bottle of iced tea, and took a long sip.

On the rug, Tiger and Crow were curled together in a sunbeam, completely out cold. Crow twitched in his sleep. Tiger had claimed a pillow that clearly wasn’t his.

Rumi gestured toward them with the bottle. “How the hell did you get anything done in the Demon Realm with those two?”

Jinu drifted beside her, gaze softening.

“They weren’t like this,” Jinu admitted gently. “It was all claws and resting apocalypse face. They never rested. Not really.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And now they nap like spoiled cats.”

“Maybe they feel safe here,” he said quietly. “Or maybe it’s just the first place that’s let them breathe.”

Rumi looked at the pair again, her grip tightening slightly around the bottle. The buzzing in her chest had softened, but hadn’t faded. It was still there — like an echo. Like a secret.

“Guess that makes one of us.”

Jinu didn’t say anything.

But he didn’t move away, either.

They stood there in the soft quiet — her with her iced tea, him drifting just out of reach, and the familiars asleep in their golden patch of peace. For a moment, it almost felt like normal. Almost.

Then Jinu tilted his head, eyes flicking toward her, thoughtful.

“What?” Rumi asked warily.

 “I think I’ve just figured it out.”

She glanced over at him. “Figured what out?”

He looked at her then, eyes bright with something like anticipation. “Where I want to go first.”

~

The squawk of cockatoos and the chaos of a school excursion filled the air. Somewhere in the distance, a lion was roaring like it had just been woken up from a nap it didn’t ask for.

Rumi stood by the front gate, sunglasses on, a coffee in one hand, a zoo map in the other. The sky was clear, the sun warm but not unbearable, and thankfully, it was the middle of the week. A few scattered families, school trips and retirees meandered through the exhibits, but the paths were mostly quiet.

Rumi adjusted the baseball cap low over her forehead and tugged her face mask a little higher, the oversized sunglasses doing the rest of the work. Between the three, she looked more like someone trying to dodge a flu than a famous idol — which was exactly the point. The last thing she needed was to get mobbed by fans while babysitting a spirit on his first field trip.

Still, she kept her voice low, and her head tilted slightly away from the crowd, pretending to study the map while muttering out of the corner of her mouth.

“Stop hovering so close. You’re going to make me look insane.”

Jinu, invisible to everyone else, was drifting gleefully beside her, craning to get a better view of the flamingos. “Technically, you are talking to yourself.”

“Technically,” she hissed, “I’m talking to you, which is arguably worse.”

He laughed, not helping. “Relax, no one’s paying attention. Look at that woman over there. She's been staring at the flamingos for fifteen minutes. I think she’s having a spiritual experience.”

Rumi groaned, walking toward the flamingo pond like she hadn’t heard him. “Can you at least float a little higher? Someone’s kid almost walked through your knees.”

“I’m hovering, not haunting.”

“You’re always haunting.”

Jinu’s voice trailed after her like smoke, full of amusement. “I told you this was a good idea.”

The flamingos squawked and shuffled on their absurdly long legs. One of them let out a sound like a car alarm. Rumi paused, coffee cup halfway to her now-exposed mouth, eyebrows raised.

“That thing sounds cursed.”

“I love it,” Jinu whispered, clearly delighted. “Look at its weird little face. That’s a bird that knows no peace.”

She took a sip of her coffee, glancing subtly around to make sure no one was watching her too closely. A mum with a pram had stopped to check her phone. An elderly couple were arguing softly over whether koalas were “as boring as last time.” No one was paying attention to the woman subtly talking to the air.

Thank God for weekdays.

“I still can’t believe this was your first choice,” she murmured under her breath.

“Rumi,” Jinu said, dead serious now. “There’s an animal here called a binturong. Its nickname is the bearcat. And it smells like popcorn.”

She blinked. “Okay. I’m listening.”

He beamed, or at least she felt like he was beaming beside her. “Exactly. Onward.”

~

They wandered slowly through the reptile house next, where everything was dim and humid and smelled vaguely of moss and old air vents. Rumi kept her sunglasses on despite the low light, arms crossed tightly, doing her best to look like someone avoiding interaction, which wasn’t far from the truth.

Jinu, meanwhile, was plastered to the glass of a python enclosure, whispering, “This guy’s whole vibe is ‘coiled threat.’ I respect that.”

“You would,” Rumi murmured, glancing sideways at a couple of teenagers nearby. One of them pointed toward the snake, none the wiser that an astral being was standing inches from their face.

Jinu drifted over to her, practically bouncing. “Name one part of this place that isn’t cool.”

“The bathrooms,” Rumi deadpanned.

He grinned. “I didn’t say I wanted to experience everything.”

~

At the penguin exhibit, they both stood in silence, watching a group of awkward tuxedoed birds dive bomb into the water like tiny aquatic missiles.

“They’re chaotic,” Jinu said fondly.

“They’re perfect,” Rumi replied, a little too sincerely.

He gave her a sidelong look. “That sounded personal.”

“Maybe I just relate to emotionally unstable creatures in formalwear.”

~

By the time they reached the big cat enclosure, Rumi’s hat had slipped back a little, and she kept one hand casually near her face, doing her best to stay incognito. A sign on the railing read ‘Do Not Taunt the Tigers’ — which felt like the kind of advice Jinu would personally ignore.

The tigress inside the enclosure emerged from the tall grass with effortless grace, her striped coat gleaming in the sun. She moved like liquid muscle; calm, lethal, utterly unbothered by the world around her.

Jinu hovered a few feet back, watching her with wide eyes. “She’s magnificent. Look at her — strength, elegance, control. She doesn’t even need to try.”

Rumi glanced over at him, unimpressed. “Why are you acting like this is the first tiger you’ve ever seen?”

“She’s different,” he said, still staring.

“You have a tiger,” Rumi pointed out. “A literal demon tiger. Who now lives in my apartment and occasionally teleports onto my kitchen bench.”

Jinu waved a hand. “Tiger doesn’t count. He’s—” Jinu paused, searching for the right word. “He’s more like a furry little war crime than a tiger. This one’s graceful.”

Rumi shook her head, arms crossed. “Nope. Still not seeing how the zoo version tops that.”

“This one doesn’t claw the couch or leave scorch marks in the carpet.”

“She also doesn’t fall asleep halfway through attacking a sock,” Rumi muttered. “Tiger has character.”

Jinu laughed. “Okay, fine. He’s one-of-a-kind.”

“Exactly.”

A beat passed. The tigress paced elegantly behind the glass.

Then Jinu said, almost softly, “You know… she kind of reminds me of you.”

Rumi blinked, half stunned, before side-eyeing him. “Better explain that one real carefully.”

Jinu grinned. “Deadly. Gorgeous. Doesn’t do well in cages.”

She blinked.

Then, quietly, “...Okay, that was smooth.”

“I’ve been workshopping it.”

She rolled her eyes, but even behind the sunglasses and mask, the faint tug of a smile gave her away.

Then Jinu said, more quietly, “I think I just like seeing something dangerous that’s allowed to be calm. Powerful, but not on edge.”

Rumi tilted her head at that, the joking tone fading. “Yeah. I get that.”

The quiet stretched between them — warm, easy.

Then Rumi stepped back from the railing. “Alright, come on. Before you get emotionally attached and ask to adopt her.”

“Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve brought home,” he said cheerfully.

She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Not helping.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

And with that, they moved on. Jinu drifting beside her, the air still faintly crackling with that strange energy that always hummed between them.

~

They stopped in front of the bird enclosure, where a raucous symphony of squawks, whistles, and chirps filled the air. Parrots flaunted their brilliant feathers while cockatoos screeched in theatrical protest, and tiny birds flitted like living confetti.

Jinu floated closer, eyes alight with wonder. “These birds are wild. So loud and colourful. I could watch them all day.”

Rumi smirked behind her mask, tilting her head. “At least Crow is quieter than this bunch.”

Jinu suddenly burst out laughing, loud and genuine, causing Rumi to shoot him a puzzled look. 

“What?” she said, mildly defensive.

He tried to stifle his grin, failing. “You’ve been calling my demon familiar Crow this whole time?”

“Yeah?” she said warily. “Why is that funny?”

Jinu grinned. “Because it’s a magpie, Rumi.”

She blinked, visibly stumped. “Wait—what?”

“A magpie,” he repeated. “Three eyes, teleporting attitude problem. Very much not a crow.”

Rumi stared for a second. “You’re kidding.”

Jinu laughed again. “You clearly don’t know your birds.”

Rumi crossed her arms. “It’s a demon bird, Jinu. It doesn’t exactly show up in bird-watching guides. What was I supposed to call it?”

He smirked. “Still. It’s cute that you thought it was a crow. It’s got irony.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Maybe,” he said, drifting a little closer. “But I’ve decided we’re keeping the nickname. Crow’s got a nice ring to it.”

And despite herself, Rumi felt the flutter in her chest again; warm, unexpected, and just a little dangerous.

~

Later, they sat on a low bench tucked between the giraffe paddock and a souvenir stall. Rumi kept her head down, sipping slowly from a cold lemonade with a striped paper straw, her mask pulled just low enough to take a drink.

“So,” Jinu said from beside her, “what’s the verdict?”

“On what?”

“The zoo. Mortal world field trip, day one.”

She leaned back, watching a giraffe awkwardly try to scratch its own knee with its head. “It’s... not terrible.”

“That’s basically a glowing review from you.”

“And you’ve behaved. Mostly.”

“I told you I’m growing.”

She glanced sideways, her voice quieter now. “You’re not the only one.”

There was a pause. The kind that wasn’t awkward — just full of unspoken things.

Then Jinu said brightly, “Want to hit the gift shop and steal a tiny plush flamingo?”

“Absolutely not.”

“So... you do want one.”

She groaned. “You're the worst.”

He hummed, pleased. “But I’m learning from the best.”

And somewhere behind the mask, a small smile tugged at Rumi’s lips, even as a quiet warmth bloomed in her chest. A gentle flutter that made her heart skip just slightly.

Chapter Text

The apartment was warm with the soft glow of lamplight, shadows dancing gently across the floor as the flickering K-drama played out on the TV.

Rumi was sprawled on the couch in her favourite oversized pyjamas. Ones with faded bunnies wielding swords, accompanied by a pair of mismatched socks poking out from under the throw blanket she’d claimed as hers.

A half-eaten container of tteokbokki sat balanced on her knee, chopsticks dangling lazily in one hand. She wasn’t really paying attention to the screen, though she did give a small snort when one of the drama’s generals dramatically collapsed from heartbreak and war stress.

“Do people really swoon that often in battle?” she asked, not looking away from the screen.

Jinu, hovering nearby in his usual cross-legged pose, smirked. “Only if the budget allows for a slow-motion shot and orchestral swell.”

Rumi rolled her eyes. “You’re such a critic.”

“I lived through most of the Joseon era,” he replied with a shrug. “I think I’m allowed to judge the historical accuracy of the wig department.”

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, but the corner of her mouth curled.

“You love it.”

They fell into an easy quiet, the kind that had settled between them more and more since they’d started… whatever this was. Coexisting? Cooperating? Something vaguely resembling friendship again, minus the shouting.

Jinu drifted a little closer, gaze still on the screen as a corrupt royal advisor schemed in the background.

“Also, that guy?” he added, gesturing. “Would’ve been publicly executed before he even finished his first monologue.”

Rumi snorted again and shook her head. She chewed on another piece of rice cake, then glanced at Jinu sidelong.

The scent of spicy sauce filled the air, mingling with the low hum of the TV. Jinu was beside her now, legs crossed, arms lazily folded behind his head as he watched the show with the kind of detached amusement that only someone who had lived through similar eras could.

“So… when are you going to tell me how any of this Demon Realm stuff actually works?”

That caught Jinu’s attention.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously bringing up politics while you’re in bunny pyjamas?”

“I’m multitasking,” she said, gesturing with her chopsticks. “Might as well learn something while this drama gets progressively more ridiculous.”

“Getting a jump on diplomacy now, are we?” Jinu asked, turning his head slowly to look at her, one brow arched.

“Just curious,” she shrugged, poking at her food. “You make it sound like we’re heading to some alternate version of Seoul with fire pits.”

He gave a low chuckle. “That’s… not entirely off.”

Rumi blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Jinu leaned forward slightly, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful.

“Gwi-Ma was the Demon King for… longer than most of us can even remember. Centuries. Maybe even millennia? He didn’t rise to power through bloodlines or elections. He took the throne through sheer force. Ruled with fear, fire, and brutality.”

“Sounds familiar,” Rumi muttered, her tone dark.

“Yeah. But… for all his cruelty, the Realm wasn’t always a constant war zone. Hunters tend to assume it’s just endless screaming and torment down there, but there’s more to it than that.” He gestured loosely, as though painting the image in the air. “There are cities, villages, economies. Commerce. Social structures. Not everyone in the Realm is a monster. Some demons just… live. They run shops. Forge weapons. Brew wine.”

Rumi stared at him, slightly stunned. “You’re saying there are communities in the Demon Realm?”

He nodded. “Of course. You think we all just stand around in lava pits screaming into the void?”

“I mean…” she hesitated. “Kind of?”

He gave a bark of laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Well, you’re not totally wrong. There are definitely sections of the Realm that are fire and darkness. Whole regions steeped in chaos. But not all of it. Some parts…” His voice softened. “Some parts are actually quite beautiful. Strange. Surreal. But beautiful.”

Rumi turned to look at him. His expression was distant, as though remembering something. Something that almost seemed to ache behind his eyes.

“Maybe,” he added, quieter now, “when we’re down there… I’ll show you.”

Their eyes met. Something in the space between them stilled—softened. The TV buzzed softly in the background, forgotten. Rumi felt her breath catch as the weight of that promise lingered in the air. It wasn’t just words. It felt like an invitation into something deeper.

“Yeah, well… I’ll believe it when I see it. Don’t go getting sentimental on me.” She coughed, cheeks heating, and immediately turned her attention back to her food.

Jinu cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at her now. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The moment passed, but the warmth it left behind nestled somewhere between them, quiet and unspoken. The silence between them hummed like a live wire—warm, charged, fragile.

Then Rumi’s phone buzzed on the coffee table, the ringtone slicing through the moment with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

They both jumped slightly.

Rumi blinked, then grabbed the phone. Her heart dropped a little when she saw the screen.

“Oh crap,” she muttered, brushing a hand through her hair. “It’s Mira and Zoey. Our weekly catch-up. I completely forgot.”

She stared at the screen for a beat longer, thumb hovering over the answer button. Normally she looked forward to their calls—it was a comforting ritual. But tonight, with everything that had been stirred up in her chest and the strange, gentle shift happening between her and Jinu, it felt suddenly hard to slot herself back into that old version of her life.

Still, she stood up, cradling the phone. “I should take this.”

Jinu gave her a relaxed shrug, though the glint in his eye was knowing. “Go on. I’ll let you know if the Crown Prince cheats on his sixth wife again.”

Rumi gave him a flat look. “You say that like it hasn’t already happened.”

He grinned and leaned back into the couch cushions. “Fair point.”

With a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself, Rumi turned and padded down the hall to her room. She closed the door softly behind her, the familiar hum of her friends’ voices waiting on the other end of the line.

Rumi sank onto the edge of her bed, phone warm in her hand as the screen lit up with Mira and Zoey’s smiling faces. Mira was lounging on a couch with a chipped mug in hand, her hair piled in a messy bun, while Zoey was curled up under a blanket despite the daylight pouring in behind her.

“There she is!” Zoey grinned. “We were about to give up on you and assume you’d been kidnapped by evil spirits.”

The irony was not lost on Rumi, even as she hesitantly smiled in response, ignoring the way she felt the tether thrumming.

“Or maybe she got roped into one of those weird underground idol dance competitions,” Mira added with a teasing lift of her brow.

Rumi let out a soft laugh, pulling a pillow into her lap. “Nothing that exciting. I just… forgot it was today.”

“That’s a first,” Mira said gently, a note of concern behind the teasing. “You usually send reminders.”

Rumi nodded, her smile wan. “Yeah. Things have just been… a lot lately.”

Zoey squinted. “Everything okay? You don’t look like you're being held hostage.”

“I’m not,” Rumi promised with a small laugh, before glancing at Mira through the screen. “But what about you? How’s your dad doing?”

The question quieted the energy on the call, Mira’s smile slipping into something more guarded.

“He’s…” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “He’s not great. Still resisting treatment most days. But he’s not throwing me out anymore, so… progress?”

“I’m sorry,” Rumi said softly.

Zoey echoed the sentiment, her voice gentle. “It’s so messed up, Mira. You shouldn’t have to deal with that kind of distance when he’s sick.”

“It is what it is,” Mira murmured. “But… I’ve been spending more time with my brothers. We’re not exactly hugging and crying together, but there’s less shouting, more sitting in silence with mutual disdain. So, that’s something.”

“That sounds… comforting?” Zoey offered, and they all chuckled.

“My mum’s opening up a little more too,” Mira added, more quietly. “Maybe seeing him like this is reminding her what matters.”

“I’m glad you’ve got them,” Rumi said. “Even if it’s messy.”

Mira nodded, and then shrugged like she didn’t want to linger in vulnerability too long. “Anyway. Enough about my tragic family saga. What about you, Rumi? How’s the Honmoon? Still ok managing it all on your own?”

Ignoring the fact that multiple demons seemed to be after her, that she was tethered to their former enemy, and had recently discovered one of Korea’s most prominent billionaires was actually a demon who’d been hiding in the human realm for decades?

“It’s holding steady.” Rumi glanced at the floor. “I’ve been maintaining the boundaries, patching a few weak spots. Nothing major… but it’s definitely harder without you both here.”

Mira’s expression softened. “You’re doing good, Rumi. I know you don’t hear that enough, but you are.”

“Yeah,” Zoey added, reaching toward her screen as if she could hand Rumi a hug. “You’re doing us both a real solid, holding down the fort like that!”

Mira nodded, her expression more curious now. “How are you doing with your demon powers?”

“I’m… figuring things out. Slowly,” Rumi said vaguely. “I’ve started working on it more.”

Zoey perked up. “Oh yeah! You discovered your demon powers, right? That’s so cool. Have you gotten the hang of anything yet?”

Rumi tensed slightly, her thoughts catching on all the things she hadn’t told them—the tether, the demons, Jinu. She swallowed.

“Sort of.” Rumi picked at the seam of her sleeve. “Still feels like I’m doing everything backwards.”

Mira tilted her head. “Did you ever reach out to Celine?”

Rumi’s fingers tensed slightly on the pillow. At the sound of the name, something uncomfortable rippled through Rumi—like a pebble tossed into water that had just gone still.

Celine.

She hadn’t spoken to her since that night. And the idea of Celine finding out about Jinu, about the tether, about everything, sent something cold sliding down her spine. She didn’t know how Celine would react. And some part of her wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

“She didn’t have anything useful to offer,” Rumi lied smoothly, picking at the hem of her pyjama sleeve. “I think she’s kind of keeping her distance right now.”

“Probably because she doesn’t know how to deal with all this,” Zoey offered, which made the lie sting a little less.

“Maybe,” Rumi murmured.

They moved on after that, drifting into easier topics. But as Rumi listened to her friends talk—Zoey grumbling about her aunt’s obsession with tuna casserole, Mira half-heartedly dragging the drama she’d binged the night before—she couldn’t quite shake the ache pressing in around her heart.

Rumi stayed quieter, her thoughts knotted beneath the surface. As the call wrapped up, she promised to message more, to call sooner next time, and ended the call with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

When the screen finally went dark, Rumi sat in silence for a long moment, the soft buzz of the apartment’s lights and the distant hum of the city filtering in. She felt the warmth of their friendship linger… but also the growing weight of the things she hadn’t said.

She’d promised herself, after everything that had happened with Gwi-Ma, that she wouldn’t shut people out anymore. That she would be honest—with herself and with the people who cared about her. So why couldn’t she tell them this?

They meant so much to her. But right now, she couldn’t tell them the truth.

Not about Jinu. Not about Mr Rak. Not about the whispers of something darker creeping through the cracks of everything she thought she understood.

Not yet.

And if she was honest, brutally honest, some selfish part of her didn’t want to.

Didn’t want to explain about her tether her to Jinu. Didn’t want to invite anyone else into whatever this was between them. Didn’t want to share it, even with the people who knew her best.

For now, it was hers.

Just hers.

Still, that didn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at her edges.

Signing, Rumi stepped quietly back into the living room, the soft flicker of the TV casting golden shadows across the walls. The glow of the historical K-drama still danced across the screen, but she barely registered it. She padded in slowly, arms crossed, her lips drawn in a tight line she couldn’t quite loosen.

The guilt was creeping in faster. It coiled in her stomach, low and aching.

Jinu glanced up from the couch as she returned, and his entire posture shifted in an instant. He sat up a little straighter, eyes flicking across her face with a subtle furrow of concern.

“You’re back,” he said, voice light and easy, though she could sense the deeper note of question underneath.

“Yeah,” Rumi replied, forcing a small smile as she walked back over and sank into the couch beside him, curling her legs beneath her. “Call ran a little long.”

Jinu tilted his head. “You look like someone told you your favourite drama got cancelled.”

Rumi huffed a small laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s nothing.”

“Good,” he said quickly, clearly deciding not to press. “Because you missed a lot while you were off playing bestie hotline.”

He reached for the remote, rewinding the episode a little. “Okay, so you missed the queen discovering her chief guard is actually her long-lost betrothed, who was thought dead but secretly raised by monks in the mountains. Classic.”

“Of course she was,” Rumi muttered, lips quirking. “And let me guess, he’s been protecting her from the shadows for years?”

“Centuries,” Jinu said dramatically, clutching an imaginary necklace at his chest. “He’s also probably secretly a demon, but don’t worry—they’ll gloss over that.”

A quiet laugh escaped her, and something in her chest eased, just a little. The guilt didn’t vanish, but it dulled slightly beneath the warmth of his voice, the comfort of the banter, the way he didn’t push her but was simply there.

She could feel the tether stronger between them now, humming gently in the space between their shoulders. Warm and steady, like a current of emotion moving from one soul to the other. And for the first time in what felt like weeks, she didn’t feel quite so hollow. Quite so alone.

Rumi glanced sideways at him, watching as he narrated the show in a terrible impression of one of the characters. Her smile softened, the weight of everything still pressing on her, but not quite crushing her like before.

Maybe keeping it all to herself wasn’t the healthiest choice, but it was one she could live with for right now.

Whatever came next, she wouldn’t face it alone. Not really.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

The city below pulsed with life, a neon sprawl that hummed beneath the dark velvet of the night sky. But up in the quiet corners of Naksan Park, it was another world.

Cool air, scattered stars, and the occasional flicker of streetlight bleeding through the trees. The ancient stone walls traced a silent path through the hillside, giving the park a timeless kind of charm, caught somewhere between the past and the ever-moving present.

Rumi landed lightly on her feet with a soft puff of displaced air, her body materialising near the rusted viewpoint railing overlooking the glittering Seoul skyline.

“Boom,” she said triumphantly, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “Nailed it.”

Jinu floated a few feet away, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “Don’t get cocky, Princess. You were off by half a metre.”

Rumi placed a hand on her hip and smirked. “Yeah? Tell that to the solid ground beneath my feet.”

He drifted closer, the moonlight making his spirit form shimmer faintly against the shadowed trees.

“It’s not bad,” he admitted. “Way better than when you teleported into that garbage pile behind the convenience store earlier.”

"Hey," Rumi jabbed a finger at him, her eyes narrowing. "That was one time. And you distracted me."

"I barely said two words," Jinu replied, all innocent mischief.

"Yeah, well—two words is more than enough when they come out of your mouth…" she muttered, a faint flush colouring her cheeks as she turned away.

Jinu's smug grin widened. “Admit it. I’m irresistible, even as a spirit.”

“More like insufferable,” she shot back, trying, and failing, not to smile.

Trying to shake it off, Rumi squared her shoulders and focused again on the space a few feet ahead of her.

“Alright, let’s see if I can not crash into a bench this time.”

They moved through the park in bursts. Rumi flickering from stone wall to lantern, to the twisted roots of a gnarled tree, each jump a little faster, a little sharper. Her form blurred with shadow now when she vanished, the energy that wrapped around her glowing a soft indigo that felt more natural with each attempt.

Eventually, she landed with a small stumble beside one of the old pagoda-style pavilions, catching herself against the railing with a grin.

Jinu hovered nearby, watching her closely. “You’ve got it now,” he said, quietly proud.

Rumi tilted her head toward him. “You think?”

“I know.” He floated a little closer. “So… have you noticed anything else yet? Demon abilities, I mean. Besides the tether?”

Rumi let out a breath, leaning against the rail as the wind whispered through the trees. “Not really. Not that I’m aware of, anyway. The tether’s the big one. I can feel you all the time. Like a… string pulled tight. Sometimes warm. Sometimes annoying.”

“Annoying?” he echoed, placing a hand to his heart with exaggerated pain. “I’m wounded.”

“Good,” she said sweetly. “Means it’s working.”

Jinu rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him. He let the silence sit for a moment, the kind that didn’t feel uncomfortable, just… companionable. Familiar.

“You’re doing good, Rumi,” he said at last, his voice lower, more genuine.

Rumi raised an eyebrow at him, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face as she leaned against the railing. “Coming from the guy who tried to steal all my fans and destroy the Honmoon a few months ago? Wow. You really do know how to give a compliment.”

Jinu gave her a sly smile, drifting a little closer. “Hey, I never said I was a good K-pop star. Just an effective one.”

“Effective at being a pain in my ass,” she muttered.

He placed a hand over his chest, feigning hurt. “You wound me again. But seriously—my demonic prowess makes me an excellent coach. Manipulation, doing the bidding of a demon king, emotionally confusing one cute Hunter at a time. The usual résumé.”

“You forgot smug bastard’” Rumi shot back, ignoring the subtle warmth in her cheeks.

“Ah, you're right. That’s at the top, actually. Under great hair and excellent coach.”

“Excellent coach?” she scoffed. “I nearly teleported into a bin because of you.”

“And yet,” he said with a lazy gesture, “you’re still standing, still stunning, and still not impaled on a park bench. I call that growth.”

Rumi rolled her eyes, but the curve of her lips betrayed her amusement. “Still waiting on that motivational speech and matching tracksuits, Coach Jinu.”

“You’ll get it the moment you teleport without falling into shrubbery,” he quipped.

Their laughter drifted into the dark like smoke, curling into the shadows of the park. The tether between them hummed lightly, almost like it was purring—soft, low, steady.

And beneath all the teasing, Rumi could feel it again, that familiar flicker. The strange steadiness of the bond between them. That quiet, unspoken truth that despite everything they’d been through, this strange, volatile partnership was starting to feel… solid. Maybe even safe.

Not quite comfort, not quite peace, but something real. Something starting to thaw the cold, hollow place that had lived inside her for too long.

“So,” Rumi called out, brushing whisps of hair from her eyes as Jinu drifted around her, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, “tell me more about this demonic prowess of yours. Since you’re such a self-declared excellent coach and all.”

Jinu grinned, the moonlight catching the glint in his eyes. “Ask away. I’m an open book, remember?”

Rumi cocked her head, thoughtful. “Alright then. Mr Rak. How did that happen? How did you and the Saja Boys end up in bed with one of Korea’s most powerful billionaires-slash-secret demons?”

Jinu raised a brow at her phrasing. “Well, not literally in bed, but…” He shrugged. “Gwi-Ma told us there was a powerful demon in the human realm. Someone with connections, resources, and a knack for discretion. He said he could assist us, quietly, from this side.”

“And Mr Rak just said yes?” Rumi asked, eyes narrowing.

“It wasn’t exactly a formal pitch. More like… a whispered meeting under moonlight, a few mutual threats, and an understanding of shared goals.” Jinu gave a dry laugh. “Rak’s not one to be coerced, but he saw the opportunity.”

Rumi crossed her arms. “What I don’t get is—how does a demon like Rak manage to live here undetected for decades, and Gwi-Ma couldn’t last two seconds in the human world without raising alarms?”

“Temperament,” Jinu said simply. “Rak has it. Gwi-Ma… not so much. He ruled with fire and fury, remember? Subtlety was never his thing. You remember the Saja Boys final concert.”

Rumi did her best not to think about that night, whenever she could help it.

“Still,” Rumi muttered, “being one of Korea’s top billionaires is hardly what I’d call living in the shadows.”

“And yet,” Jinu countered with a faint smirk, “you never noticed. Not until we walked into his office.”

Rumi frowned, then looked away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of being right. Again.

Jinu moved to stand beside her, gaze trailing over the darkened city skyline. “That’s the thing about Rak. He plays the long game. He blends in just enough to avoid suspicion, while building a kingdom under everyone’s noses. That’s why Gwi-Ma trusted him.”

Rumi let the words settle, unease coiling in her stomach. “And you trust him?”

Jinu’s jaw tightened slightly, but he nodded. “I trust that he’s curious. And for someone as old and bored as him… that might be the only reason he’s helping us at all.”

Rumi exhaled slowly, the cold making her breath fog. “Great. So, our best shot at figuring this out is a bored demon billionaire with a god complex.”

Jinu chuckled, “Welcome to my world, Princess.”

Rumi blinked to another spot in the park — this time balancing on the low stone edge of a sculpture, before glancing over her shoulder at Jinu.

“You know,” she called, slightly breathless, “if people like Rak can exist on this side of the Honmoon… why didn’t Gwi-Ma ever try to use him earlier? I mean, Rak’s got power, money, influence. If he’d actually sided with Gwi-Ma properly, the Honmoon wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Jinu appeared beside her a second later in a lazy drift, crossing his arms and leaning against the sculpture like it was a bar stool in a dive bar.

“Because demons like Rak are rarely team players. They’re opportunists. Self-serving. If Gwi-Ma had taken over this realm fully, there’d be nothing left for Rak to sink his claws into. No power to climb, no empires to quietly build.”

“So he stayed out of it?” Rumi frowned.

Jinu shrugged. “More like he played both sides. Helped Gwi-Ma just enough to stay in favour, but never gave him everything. Rak’s interest was never in watching this world burn. It was in owning pieces of it.”

Rumi scoffed. “What, billionaire by day, demon lord by night?”

“Not a bad tagline,” Jinu mused. “But yeah. That’s the gist. Power like Rak’s only works when there’s something to dominate. If Gwi-Ma had total control of this realm, Rak would’ve been just another lapdog.”

“That’s kind of bleak,” Rumi said, hopping off the ledge. She fell into step beside him. “But it brings up another question—how does Rak even get his power here? How does he still get souls?”

Jinu gave her a long, meaningful look, then arched a brow. “You ever worked a corporate job?”

Rumi snorted. “Okay, fair.”

“There’s nothing more soul-crushing than the grind of capitalism,” Jinu said with mock gravity. “Long hours. No boundaries. Fear-based motivation. Desperation. Ambition. Burnout. You think demons need pitchforks and fire to take souls?” He gestured around vaguely. “This world does half the work for us.”

Rumi tilted her head. “So what—you’re saying half the CEOs in Gangnam are demons?”

“I’m saying,” Jinu replied with a sly grin, “you’d be surprised how many contracts are signed in blood, metaphorically or not.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “That’s… mildly terrifying.”

He winked. “That’s demon economics.”

Rumi landed softly on the gravel path a few metres ahead of Jinu, her teleportation now smooth and almost instinctive.

She spun to face him, brushing windblown hair from her face. “Okay, but something’s still bugging me.”

“Oh?” Jinu drawled, stepping toward her with that lazy grace she’d come to associate with him. “Only one thing?”

She ignored the smirk. “Why did it take so long for you guys to go after the fans? I mean, the Honmoon’s always been a target. Why use them, and why then?”

Jinu’s smile faltered, ever so slightly. He slowed to a stop beside her, looking away. “Because I suggested it.”

That caught her off guard. “You?”

He nodded once, quiet. “I needed something big. Something strategic enough to get Gwi-Ma’s attention… and trust. Enough for him to agree to what I wanted.”

Rumi narrowed her eyes. “Which was…?”

Jinu’s jaw clenched. He was still holding something back, but his voice dropped into something closer to raw when he finally replied.

“I asked him to take my memories. I couldn’t live with what I’d done. Who I was becoming.” He let out a quiet laugh with no humour. “He thought it was punishment. I thought it was escape.”

Rumi didn’t speak for a moment, her heart tight with something she didn’t want to name. When she finally did, her voice was dry with sarcasm.

“Well, that just makes me super excited about our little field trip to the Demon Realm.”

Jinu let out a short, humourless laugh. “Don’t worry. I didn’t exactly book the all-inclusive tour package.”

“You were the one who called it beautiful, remember?” she added, raising an eyebrow.

He huffed a quiet laugh.

“I said parts of it were beautiful. Not the whole damn place.” He corrected, glancing at her. “It wasn’t the realm itself that ruined me. It was Gwi-Ma. His influence. His control. I spent so long under his shadow I forgot there was light at all. After a while… I started to wonder what the world looked like without him. I wanted to see what had changed.”

Anguish flickered across Jinu’s face, raw and unguarded in a way Rumi rarely saw. His usual bravado slipped, just for a moment, and in its place was something far older, far more worn down. Like the weight of years, of centuries, had suddenly settled over him, dragging at the corners of his mouth, dimming the usual spark in his eyes.

Whatever had been done to him in the Demon Realm under Gwi-Ma’s reign, it had left fractures that even time hadn’t managed to mend.

Rumi felt it then, not just pity, but recognition. A quiet, unspoken understanding thrummed in her chest.

No, she hadn’t suffered at Gwi-Ma’s hand, hadn’t lived under his rule, but she knew what it was to be moulded by someone else’s expectations. To be crushed under the slow, suffocating weight of someone trying to wring you into something they wanted, regardless of what you actually were.

Celine hadn’t wielded power with fire and chains, but with disappointment and precision. The result wasn’t so different. Something in her ached as she looked at him, because she knew that kind of pain, and how long it took to find yourself again after surviving it.

Rumi studied him, curiosity tugging at the edges of her thoughts.

“Okay but—if you were stuck in the demon realm for so long, and barely had any time to do anything here besides be an idol and fight Huntrix… how do you know so much about the human world? Culture, tech, slang—like, you’re weirdly up to date.”

Perhaps, on some level, Rumi knew she was giving him an out—a chance to pull the conversation away from the shadow it had slipped into.

And though part of her was desperate to know just how much he had endured, to piece together the truth behind the centuries carved into his bones, it was the look in his eyes that stopped her. Low. Defeated. Lost in a place she feared she couldn't reach. In that moment, she realised her need to see the light return to his eyes far outweighed her curiosity about the depth of his suffering.

And Jinu, as if he sensed the offer she was extending, took it.

He didn’t thank her, not aloud, but she felt it. In the subtle shift of his posture, in the faint softening around his eyes, in the way the tether between them relaxed ever so slightly. A gentle pulse of something quieter than words.

Gratitude, murmured in silence between their souls.

A grin flickered across Jinu’s lips. “What can I say? I’m a fast learner.”

“Jinu,” Rumi warned.

He shrugged, hands slipping into the pockets of his coat. “I studied. Obsessed, really. Every scrap of music, fashion, pop culture Rak fed us, I inhaled it. He was the one who prepped us—said if we were going to blend in, we had to understand. So, we binge-watched everything from dramas to mukbangs, practised every TikTok trend Rak threw at us, read magazines like they were sacred texts.”

Rumi stared. “You studied TikTok?”

“It was part of our curriculum,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “Rak’s very thorough.”

She snorted, but he wasn’t done.

“Besides,” Jinu added, “it’s not all that different, really. This world’s just a flashier version of ours. More technology. More screens. But the systems—the hierarchy, the obsession with image, the craving for power, it’s all the same. Just dressed differently.”

Rumi leaned back as she sat on a nearby park bench, her eyes lifted toward the faint shimmer of stars overhead, barely visible through the city’s glow. The crisp night air curled around her, gentle and cool, but her mind was anything but still.

Perhaps she hadn’t realised before now, had never truly allowed herself to consider, just how similar the Demon Realm might be to her own. Not in its magic or fire or mythic legends, but in its people. In its communities. In its stories. Jinu had painted a picture that was far from the monstrous wasteland she'd always imagined. Villages. Cities. Economies. Families.

A society not so different from the one she walked through every day, except it existed behind the veil of the Honmoon and centuries of fear-soaked tradition.

Why had no one ever tried to learn? Why was understanding so forbidden?

Why was it so ingrained in the Hunters’ legacy to treat demons as irredeemable threats, creatures of shadow and fire? Was it easier that way—to dehumanise what they didn’t understand? To build soldiers, not thinkers?

She frowned, jaw tight with the weight of the thought.

It wasn’t that she was blind to what demons could do. Gwi-Ma had been living proof of the carnage they were capable of. And she still believed—no, knew—that Gwi-Ma had needed to be sealed away. That wasn’t up for debate. But Jinu’s words lingered like smoke in her chest.

Was it right to judge an entire realm based on the actions of a tyrant?

A small, cautious voice in her head whispered that Jinu could be lying. That all of this could be another manipulation, a carefully spun tale. But that voice was quiet, almost embarrassed. Because everything he’d shared so far… the way his mask had slowly fallen away over time, the way he looked at her now—raw, real, and far too human, it all told her that he wasn’t.

He wasn’t trying to trick her. He was trying to show her something. Something she wasn’t sure any Hunter had ever been brave enough to see.

And maybe that was the scariest part of all—that she believed him.

She let out a slow breath, the weight of her thoughts coiling in her gut like gravity. If Gwi-Ma was gone, destroyed with no chance of return, then what real harm was there in wondering what it would look like for the veil between their worlds to grow thinner?

To truly see the Demon Realm; not just as a threat, but as a place full of people like Jinu, who had simply been trapped or born on the wrong side of the line?

Maybe, just maybe, it was time someone finally did.

The cool breeze brushed strands of Rumi’s hair across her cheek, the cityscape below aglow in a sea of amber and silver. She didn’t move to tuck them behind her ear, her thoughts far too distant, heavy with the echo of questions that gnawed at her.

A soft rustle stirred beside her. Then—

“You’re thinking too loud,” Jinu drawled, slipping onto the bench next to her, his shoulder nearly brushing hers.  

His tone was teasing on the surface, but his voice was softer than before, laced with something careful. The humour in his tone was light, almost tender, but the warmth of his presence grounded her. Reminded her she wasn’t alone in these thoughts. Not anymore.

She sighed, gaze lingering on the distant lights. “I’m just… thinking. About everything. About how much of what I was taught to believe might’ve been a lie. Or at least… incomplete. I don’t know what to make of it all.”

Jinu’s expression softened, his voice low. “I get that. I really do. It’s terrifying, isn’t it? When the ground you’ve always stood on starts to crack. When everything you thought was solid turns to dust.”

Rumi didn’t answer at first, letting the silence stretch as she absorbed his words.

Then, quietly, she admitted, “I just don’t understand. How no one’s ever tried to understand the other side. We have all these tools, all this history, and we used it to build walls—or, I guess a Honmoon?—instead of bridges. No one ever tried to ask what it was like over there. What they needed. What they feared.”

A long pause. Too long.

Rumi glanced over, immediately catching the strange tension on Jinu’s face. He wasn’t looking at her directly—more like studying her out of the corner of his eye, his lips parted slightly like he was trying to find the right words.

His silence felt weighty. She turned to fully look at him, and caught the crease in his brow, the way his fingers curled in slight agitation.

“What?” she asked, squinting slightly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He blinked, startled. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve got something stuck in your throat but you’re not sure if you want to swallow it or spit it out.”

Jinu huffed a quiet breath, as if weighing something. Then, almost too quietly, he said, “I was just thinking about something you said.”

“Which part? The part where I question my entire career, or the part where I accuse my whole ancient organisation of narrow-minded propaganda?”

“No.” He looked away again. “The part where you said no one ever tried to understand the other side.”

Rumi frowned, confused. “Yeah. And?”

His jaw flexed. “What if… someone did?”

Her heart gave a small, involuntary twitch, but her voice stayed level. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated again. Then met her eyes, and there was something in them; something soft and ancient and impossibly sad.

“Your parents,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

That stopped her cold.

“My… What do they have to do with anything?”

Jinu gave her a long look. “You said no one’s ever tried to understand the other side. But… your existence is living proof that once upon a time…” He paused, searching her face. “Someone did.”

The words settled between them, delicate as a falling leaf, and twice as devastating.

The realisation settled in Rumi’s chest like a stone in still water, rippling outward, quietly, deeply. She didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure she could. The night air felt suddenly heavier, like the world had shifted slightly off-kilter beneath her feet.

Jinu didn’t press.

He just sat there, eyes turned back to the city, like he hadn’t just cracked open a truth Rumi had spent her whole life never asking.

Chapter Text

The irony of being in a place fuelled by chaos and joy wasn’t lost on Rumi.

The shriek of roller coasters sliced through the air. Lights flashed in dizzying colours, cotton candy spun like clouds behind glass, and the scent of popcorn and fried sugar clung to every breeze. Children darted between costumed mascots and parents, laughter bubbling out like carbonated soda—uncontainable, careless.

It was the kind of scene she might’ve loved, once. Before everything.

But even with the buzz of the amusement park around her, Rumi found herself drifting. Not through the rides or the flashing games, but somewhere else entirely. Somewhere quieter, and heavier.

She hadn’t stopped thinking about what Jinu had said. About her parents.

It had always been an unspoken rule in their house.

Her father wasn’t to be mentioned. Every time she had dared to ask, even as a child, Celine would shut it down with a clipped tone and a look sharp enough to silence.

“It’s not important,” she’d say. “Don’t dwell on it.”

And Rumi hadn’t.

Because she wanted Celine to smile at her. She wanted something, anything, that felt like a mother who wanted her. So, she let it go. Let herself forget. Let herself believe there was nothing to ask in the first place.

But now? Now it clawed at her, every silence a space where a question could’ve lived.

Why hadn’t she pushed harder? Why hadn’t she wanted to know? Why had she been so willing to let herself remain in the dark?

“Oi,” Jinu’s voice cut through her thoughts, teasing and warm. “You’re doing that thing again.”

She blinked, looking up. He stood a step ahead, hands on his hips, an exasperated expression on his face that didn’t quite mask the concern in his eyes.

“What thing?”

“That thing where you stare into the middle distance like a dramatic indie film protagonist.” He arched a brow. “Very brooding. Very mysterious. But we’re at an amusement park, Princess. A–muse–ment. As in fun. As in joy. As in—” he swept an arm behind him, gesturing toward a carousel spinning under strings of fairy lights, “—the wonders of mortal leisure activities, which you promised me were going to blow my mind.”

Rumi managed a small laugh. “I did promise that, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he said, falling into step beside her. “So, unless your grand plan was to drag me here and mope dramatically about your tragic backstory—”

“Jinu,” she warned, even as the corner of her mouth tugged upward.

He bumped his shoulder against hers—not quite a touch, not really, but as close as he could manage. “Seriously though. You alright?”

She hesitated. Then gave a slow, tired nod. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime.”

“Tell me about it.” She exhaled, letting some of the weight bleed out of her chest. “It’s just weird. Realising how much I let myself ignore.”

Jinu didn’t respond right away, but he stayed close, letting the noise of the park fill the space between them. When he did speak again, his voice was softer.

“Well. You’re thinking about it now. That’s something.”

“Yeah.” She paused, then offered him a more genuine smile. “Thanks for dragging me out today.”

Jinu grinned. “What are mysterious tethered-spirit-demon-boys for, if not to force emotional girls onto Ferris wheels?”

She rolled her eyes, laughing. “I think that’s exactly what you’re for.”

“Damn right,” he said, and with a sweeping gesture toward the bumper cars, he added, “Now come on. Time to teach me the violent joys of recreational vehicular chaos.”

Rumi pushed the thoughts of her parents—the sharp edges of silence, of Celine’s stony deflections, and the ache of never asking—firmly to the back of her mind.

Today wasn’t about that.

Today was about fun. About noise. About cotton candy and neon lights and whatever weird fried food Jinu insisted on her eating because he couldn’t.

Despite all his teasing about her dragging him here, it was very much Jinu who led the charge. He darted ahead without needing to catch his breath, pausing only when Rumi caught up to point out something he wanted to try next, eyes shining like a kid in a toy store.

She supposed there was something almost childlike about how easily fascinated he could be; especially when he wasn’t focused on his endless metaphysical brooding or making her question the entire foundation of her life.

The amusement park was busier than the zoo had been, though not as packed as she expected for a Saturday afternoon. Still, the hustle and bustle was noticeable: excitable kids tugged parents along by the hands, groups of friends shouted over each other in food lines, and the loudspeakers blared a carousel of K-pop hits and tinny announcements over the chaos. It was loud, a little sticky, and filled with that kinetic energy of people trying to have the best day ever—and yet, not unbearable.

Rumi had expected longer lines, louder crowds, something more suffocating. But maybe the forecasted rain had scared some people off, or maybe they’d just lucked out.

Even with the crowd being manageable, Rumi wasn't about to test fate.

She kept her hoodie pulled low over her face, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky. She’d dressed down in a shapeless hoodie and wide-legged pants, just enough to pass as a college student with bad fashion sense. Anyone who looked too closely might recognise her, but most people were too wrapped up in their own excitement to pay attention to a quiet girl walking around on her own.

Little did they know, she wasn’t quite as alone as she seemed.

“Well,” Jinu said, side-eyeing a nearby spinning ride with dramatic suspicion, “I think it was very generous of your manager to get you a ticket on such short notice. Our guy Bobby really came through. Hero of the people.”

Rumi snorted. “He’s got strings to pull in places I didn’t even know had strings. I think he could convince the Blue House to reserve me a parking spot.”

Jinu flashed a grin.

“If you ever want to shut the whole place down for a private day, just say the word. I know a guy who knows a guy who probably owes me an infernal debt.”

She squinted at him. “That sounds wildly illegal.”

“Technically, it’s only illegal in this realm.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her mouth. It came so easily around him now. Maybe too easily.

Still, as the smells of roasted corn and fried squid drifted past, and the shrieks of riders echoed above them, Rumi allowed herself to fall into step beside him and just... enjoy the moment.

Whatever questions lingered in the corners of her mind about her dad, about why she’d buried her curiosity so deep just to appease Celine, could wait.

Today, they had rides to conquer.

~

The queue was long, winding, and filled with excited screams from the nearby track. Rumi shifted on her feet, nervously eyeing the loops and drops ahead. She glanced sideways, Jinu was leaning lazily against the railing, a half-smile tugging at his mouth.

“You could still back out,” he offered. “You look pale.”

“You’re a spirit,” she muttered under her breath. “You don’t get to judge.”

As they boarded, Rumi slid into the seat and yanked the harness down. Jinu floated effortlessly beside her, his body flickering faintly for just a second before he stabilised himself.

The ascent was slow, ticking ominously. Rumi gripped the handlebar like her life depended on it. Jinu, on the other hand, had his chin propped on his hand, bored.

“You know, if you puke, I’ll be the one who has to hear about it later.”

“I hate you.”

“Technically impossible.”

The drop hit, and she screamed—half in fear, half in exhilaration. Jinu just grinned beside her, wind somehow blowing through his hair, his laughter soft in her mind.

By the time they pulled into the platform, Rumi was breathless and wide-eyed.

“You’re a menace,” she gasped.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, offering an invisible high-five. She didn’t return it.

But she smiled.

~

Later, the two stood in front of a stall packed with garish prizes and impossible odds. Rumi eyed the ring toss table with suspicion.

“Okay, I know this is a scam,” she whispered. “That peg is like, the exact size of the ring.”

“Would you like me to haunt the employee?” Jinu asked, deadpan.

“No haunting.”

“Just a little chill down his spine? Minor possession?”

“Jinu.”

She tried, of course—four rings, all misses. The vendor gave her a bored look and turned to the next customer. Rumi sighed, shaking her head.

“You know, I thought maybe I’d get lucky today.”

“You did.”

She turned—and blinked. A large plush shark now sat perfectly perched on a nearby bench.

“You didn’t.”

“I didn’t touch the rings,” Jinu said, hands raised. “But maybe the wind caught one just right. Supernatural breeze.”

“You’re going to get me arrested one day.”

“And yet, you keep me around.”

She scooped up the shark and walked away, muttering, “We’re naming it Cheaty.”

Jinu smirked, “And here I thought you would name it Shark.”

~

As the carousel spun in lazy circles, Rumi sat sideways on a pastel horse, fingers tracing the gold detailing, Cheaty squished against her. The music was faint and dreamy, warped slightly by the age of the ride.

Jinu hovered beside her, one hand on the horse’s pole. “You know, you look very regal. Like a melancholy princess stuck in a modern fairy tale.”

She gave him a look. “You’re laying it on thick today.”

He shrugged. “Just speaking the truth.”

She watched the lights blur past, listening to the laughter of children and the hum of the ride. For a moment, it was easy to imagine this as something normal. Just a boy and a girl at a theme park. Not a demon spirit and a half-demon Hunter with something broken inside her.

“If people could see you,” she said softly, “this would be harder.”

“They’d probably just assume we’re on a date,” he said without thinking.

She glanced at him, heartbeat ticking upward.

“Is that what this is?”

He blinked, before stuttering, “No. Obviously not. Just—contextually, it looks like one.”

“Right. Context.”

They didn’t speak again until the ride ended.

~

The Ferris wheel creaked gently as it carried them higher into the summer night sky, rising above the noise and neon of the park below. From their slowly spinning carriage, the whole world seemed made of candy-coloured lights—blinking rides, glowing signs, the soft haze of cotton candy stalls, and the golden glow of food trucks lining the paths like fairy-lit caravans. The air was rich with music, laughter, and the faint sugary warmth of churros.

Jinu was practically pressed against the window; his face lit with wonder.

“Look at that,” he breathed, pointing down at the spinning tilt-a-whirl. “And the lights on the pirate ship! This is incredible. You mortals really don’t hold back.”

Rumi smiled, watching him more than the view. “Glad it lived up to the hype?”

He turned to her, his expression alight. “It exceeded it.”

She laughed, leaning her elbow on the side of the cabin. “Not bad for your second mortal field trip.”

He settled back into the seat across from her, legs stretched out, just close enough that their knees could almost touch.

“Honestly?” he said, glancing at her with a sincerity that caught her off guard. “It was better than I imagined. The rides, the lights…” He tilted his head slightly. “But mostly the company.”

Rumi rolled her eyes, but her cheeks went warm anyway. “God, you’re such a flirt.”

“I’m not flirting,” he said, though the smirk tugging at his lips begged to differ. “I just… wanted this. The noise, the brightness, the rush. And I wanted you here for it.”

Something about the way he said it—soft, almost shy—made her heart do an odd little flip.

Below them, the park shimmered with movement. Families wandered past game booths, teenagers screamed on looping coasters, couples shared snacks under streetlamps. From up here, the chaos looked peaceful, like a moving painting.

Then, with a sharp whistle, the first firework shot into the sky, bursting into a golden chrysanthemum that rained sparkles over the park.

Rumi looked up, caught in the light and sound as the sky exploded again in purples and blues. More followed: a flurry of red stars, a crackling circle of green, a long golden streamer that unravelled like silk in the dark.

Jinu leaned forward, awestruck. The fireworks reflected across his spirit form, colours dancing across his features, glinting off the ethereal edges of his jaw and collar like refracted glass. He looked otherworldly, but somehow, more alive than ever.

Rumi watched him, heart tight with something she couldn’t name. A quiet part of her, buried deep, ached.

She wished this was real. That she was just some girl, and he was just some boy. That they could sit here with a future instead of a ticking clock. That this electric tension between them wasn’t doomed from the start.

Her gaze dropped briefly to his mouth. Soft. Close.

When she looked back up, Jinu was already watching her. His eyes darkened with something unspoken, something hot and delicate and sharp.

He leaned closer. The space between them shrank. His voice dropped, her name escaping like a whisper of longing.

“Rumi—”

BOOM!

A firework cracked directly above them, loud enough to rattle the cabin. The sound shattered the moment like glass, and both of them jumped slightly.

Jinu blinked, pulling back, clearing his throat. “That one was... loud.”

Rumi snorted quietly, trying to play off her racing pulse. “Yeah. Dramatic.”

They didn’t say anything for a while. The fireworks kept coming, lighting up the sky. Neither of them looked directly at each other again, but their knees stayed just barely touching, and the air was thick with everything left unsaid.

~

The sky had quietened into a smoky navy blue by the time they made their way down from the Ferris wheel.

The fireworks had stopped, the music had faded into a low, nostalgic hum, and the once-crowded walkways of the theme park were now startlingly bare. Half-lit signs flickered. Food stands were shuttered. The air had that eerie post-rush stillness, like the laughter had been vacuumed out of it.

Rumi adjusted her tote bag containing Cheaty, whom she’d been carrying around all evening. Jinu glided beside her, hands in his pockets, still grinning faintly from the high of the night.

Then he slowed, glancing around.

“…Is it just me,” he murmured, “or did the park empty out a little too fast?”

Rumi glanced over her shoulder. The carousel stood still. The ticket booth was dark. A single popcorn bucket tumbled past them on a gust of wind. She hadn’t noticed how empty it had gotten until now.

“Huh,” she said, frowning. “Guess everyone cleared out after the fireworks.”

Jinu didn’t look convinced. “It’s a bit ominous. Like… ‘first act of a horror movie’ ominous.”

Before Rumi could reply, a small voice piped up from behind her.

“Um… excuse me?”

They both turned.

A little girl stood there, maybe six or seven, with big dark eyes and a red polka-dot hoodie. Her cheeks were tear-streaked, eyes were wide and glassy, and her lower lip trembled as she looked up at Rumi.

“I—I lost my mommy,” the girl whispered.

Rumi’s heart pinched.

“Oh no, sweetheart—are you okay?” She crouched down to her level immediately, concern flooding her voice. “When did you last see her?”

The girl sniffled and shook her head, clearly on the verge of more tears.

Jinu hung back, brow furrowing.

“Something’s weird,” he muttered, low. “Where did she even come from? We’ve been walking this path for minutes—she just appeared out of nowhere.”

“She’s just a kid,” Rumi said firmly, cutting Jinu a look as she crouched down. “This happens all the time in theme parks. A kid gets separated, gets scared—it’s not that deep.”

Jinu didn’t respond right away, but Rumi could feel the tension coming off him in waves. Still, she ignored it. The girl looked up at her with wide, watery eyes, hugging her own arms around herself.

“Hey,” Rumi said gently. “It’s okay. I’ve got someone who might help.”

She slipped Cheaty out of her tote bag and held the plush shark out to the girl. “This is Cheaty. He’s brave. He helped me survive a roller coaster today.”

The girl’s face lit up as she reached for it. Her fingers were cold against Rumi’s. “Thank you,” she whispered, burying her face in the shark’s plush fabric.

“I think I know where my mommy is,” she added. “Will you come with me?”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and started walking.

Rumi straightened, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and shot Jinu another look. “Well? We’re helping her.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Something’s off. Her aura—there’s something not right about it.”

“Oh, come on,” Rumi muttered, falling into step behind the girl. “She’s just a scared kid. Not everything’s a demon plot.”

Jinu kept pace beside her, his gaze locked on the little girl’s back. “Yeah, and kids don’t usually smell like sulphur.”

“She doesn’t smell like sulphur,” Rumi snapped. “You’re just being—”

“You’re funny,” the little girl said suddenly, glancing back over her shoulder with a bright, innocent smile. “You talk to yourself a lot.”

Rumi froze for half a step before forcing a laugh. “Ah—right. Yeah. I guess I do.”

The girl giggled, the sound light and bell-like. Still, something about it was off. Too perfect. Too… hollow.

They were deeper into the park now.

Past the food stalls and souvenir shops, beyond where the music felt distant and warped, like it was being played underwater. The string lights overhead buzzed and flickered like they were struggling to stay alive. The rides nearby stood still and empty, their painted clowns and cartoon faces half-lit in garish neon.

The air felt colder here. Heavier.

“Where are we going?” Jinu muttered beside her.

Rumi shrugged. “She said her mom is this way.”

“Yeah? Well, unless her mom runs a haunted house, this place feels cursed.”

Rumi sighed. “Seriously, Jinu. Can you not freak me out in front of a scared child?”

Another giggle. This one… sharper. Like it had a blade tucked inside it.

“It’s cute,” the little girl said, still walking ahead, “that you talk to your spirit boyfriend.”

Rumi stopped dead.

Jinu’s eyes widened.

“Wait—what did you just say?” Rumi asked, the hairs on the back of her neck going rigid.

The girl finally stopped, standing in front of a long-forgotten funhouse with flickering lights and a crooked, rusted sign that read Smiley’s World of Wonder. She slowly turned to face them.

“I said,” the girl began, her voice distorting like a radio changing stations, “it’s adorable that you talk to your spirit boyfriend. He’s so protective.”

“He’s not my—” Rumi began, before the situation truly dawned on her and she took an instinctive step back. “Wait—you can see him?”

The girl’s eyes rolled back in her head. When they came forward again, they were solid black. Her mouth stretched wide, too wide, until her jaw cracked at an unnatural angle.

She dropped Cheaty.

Iridescent purple patterns began to unfurl across the child's skin, winding like creeping vines beneath the surface. Her skin bubbled and darkened, veins writhing under the surface like ink in water.

The demon grinned through the child's borrowed face.

“Finally,” it hissed, voice like oil on fire. “No more pretending.”

Jinu appeared in a blur of wispy, blue smoke and cold air, positioning himself between Rumi and the girl.

“Called it,” he muttered, teeth bared.

Rumi let out a long sigh, dragging a hand down her face as the last of the purple patterns spread across the girl's body.

“Maybe everything really is a demon plot,” she muttered under her breath.

With a flick of her wrist, a faint shimmer ran up her arm as her weapon manifested, cool metal and glowing energy sliding into her palm like a memory.

The child gave a sharp, twitching giggle that crackled with something not human. Her tiny body jolted once, then again, like something was crawling underneath her skin. With a grotesque ripple, the illusion shattered.

Where the child once stood now crouched a small demon, no taller than Rumi’s waist. Its skin was a mottled, dark blue, stretched tight over sinewy limbs. Eyes like black hollows stared unblinking, empty and wrong. Jagged teeth jutted out of a too-wide grin, and long fingers twitched as if itching to claw something open.

Jinu took a deliberate step forward, arms crossed, his tone far too casual. “I don’t want to say I told you so... but—”

“Oh, shut up,” Rumi snapped, not taking her eyes off the demon. “Demons don’t usually pretend to be lost children.”

“That’s fair,” Jinu said mildly, then glanced at the creature. “Bit of a low strategy. You trying to win points for creativity, or just scraping the bottom of the infernal barrel?”

The demon tilted its head, that terrible grin stretching wider, teeth glinting under the faint neon light still flickering above them. A hiss slithered out of its throat as it hunched down, ready to pounce.

Rumi shifted into a fighting stance, eyes narrowing. “Alright, no more pretending.”

The demon lunged first—fast, jittery, all claws and teeth. Rumi twisted out of the way with a grunt, raising her blade just in time to catch a swipe. A flash of light sparked as claw met glowing edge, the energy rippling and flaring like disturbed water, but she held her ground.

It darted back, giggling with wild glee.

“You’re fun!” it shrieked, eyes glinting like obsidian glass. “No wonder he wants youuuuu!”

Without waiting for a reply, the demon flung itself forward again, but Rumi was already gone.

With a soft fwoosh, she vanished in a puff of redish-purple smoke, the scent of something crisp lingering in the air. She reappeared behind the demon in a matching cloud, her blade arcing with brilliant indigo light through the space it had just occupied. The creature twisted mid-air, barely dodging the strike, laughing like a broken music box.

Jinu hovered nearby, arms folded, analysing the movements. “Clean teleport. Two beats faster than yesterday.”

“You know I’ve been practising,” Rumi muttered.

Just as Rumi ducked a swipe from the demon’s clawed hand, she heard it—a horrible, crunching rip. She turned sharply. There, in the demon’s other hand, was Cheaty. Her beloved stuffed shark, limp and dangling by one fin.

With a shriek of manic glee, the demon sank its claws in and tore Cheaty clean in two, stuffing fluttering into the air like snow.

Rumi froze. “You did not just—”

“Oh, come on!” Jinu shouted from above. “I stole that for her!”

Rumi’s eye twitched. “Yeah! He stole that for me!”

The demon laughed, wild and scratchy, dancing erratically on clawed feet.

“A child’s toy? Oh-ho-ho! A tribute to innocence! Crushed! Crushed like all your precious little attachments!”

 “This guy’s a real freak.” Jinu’s voice was deadpan, before he continued. “You need to avenge our son!”

Rumi went bright red. “Cheaty was not our son!”

“You sure?” Jinu teased. “You were very emotionally attached.”

“Shut up,” she hissed, leaping forward again as her energy reignited, blade glowing in her grip. “Let’s kill this thing.”

And with renewed fury, Rumi launched herself back into the fight, disappearing in a puff of demon smoke.

Another burst of smoky light, and she reappeared on the creature’s left, swinging low. The edge of her energy blade grazed its leg, hissing as it sliced through, and the demon stumbled, screeching.

“You can’t run forever, little chosen,” it hissed, blood dribbling like tar. “Our master sees you. He wants you.”

“Yeah? Who is this master?” Rumi demanded, teleporting again as the demon lunged with renewed speed. “Why me?”

The demon spun midair, flipping back into a crouch. Its voice dropped into a guttural coo, head twitching unnaturally.

“Oh, little bloom of rage… the fire in your blood… he says it’ll wake up if you come with us…”

Rumi blinked again, teleporting high and crashing down with a heavy slash. The demon met her blow with both arms, claws shrieking against the humming edge of her weapon. It shoved her off with unnatural strength, faster now, more unpredictable.

“Who the hell is ‘he’?” Jinu barked, stepping closer, eyes glowing faintly. “What does he want with her?!”

The demon only cackled in response, twisting its body in spasms and baring too many teeth. “Can’t say, won’t say, too soon to spoil the surprise!”

Rumi vanished once more, reappearing behind it, but this time—too late.

The demon anticipated her.

It spun with a screech, raking its claws across her shoulder. She gasped, stumbling. Blood bloomed across her torn hoodie. Before she could blink away, the demon pounced, pinning her to the cracked pavement with one clawed hand, the other raised high to strike.

“RUMI—!” Jinu moved without thinking.

With a shimmering pull, like being sucked through a vortex, his spirit dissolved into threads of violet-blue light and poured into Rumi’s sword.

The weapon shuddered in her grip. It pulsed once, twice, then exploded with power, reshaping from her usual sleek beam of light into a massive, broad blade of raw, crackling energy. The lines of the weapon swelled with intensity, jagged and wild, runes pulsing along its length.

The colour had changed too—its usual clean blue now swirled with deep purples, roiling like storm clouds trapped in crystal.

Rumi's eyes widened. She gritted her teeth and swung up hard, catching the demon under the chin and launching it backward in a streak of light and smoke.

It tumbled, screeching in fury and glee.

Rumi stared at the blade in her hands, now blazing with new, chaotic energy. The grip vibrated in her palm, alive with heat and pressure—not burning, but insistent. Her eyes flicked down to the runes spiralling along its core, glowing with a purple hue she’d never seen before.

“…That’s new,” she muttered, her voice slightly winded, blood still trickling from her shoulder.

Very new.

Inside the blade, she could feel him.

But it didn’t feel like it usually did when he was in spirit form, nearby but separate. This was different. His essence was more faded somehow, like someone whispering from underwater, but also more potent. She didn’t feel alone inside herself.

His energy was laced through hers, empowering her, fuelling her, like her soul had been slotted into a larger machine and was now humming at full capacity.

“I feel you,” she whispered, eyes narrowing on the demon as it recovered from the blow. “But... it’s amplified. Like you’re… boosting me.”

Jinu’s voice echoed from the sword, calm, sharp, and close. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now, you’ve got bigger problems with too many teeth.”

Rumi didn’t argue. The demon was already charging again.

She moved.

The teleport blink was instant—no more pause, no more delay. One moment she was there, the next she was behind the creature, her blade arcing down in a meteor of searing light. The demon screeched and flung up its arms to block, but this time her swing sent it skidding backward across the concrete like it weighed nothing.

It barely had time to recover before she was on it again.

Strike. Blink. Strike. Blink.

Every movement was sharper now. Every step more grounded. Her instincts flowed like water, and the power coursing through her limbs surged with confidence that wasn’t entirely her own.

Jinu guided her silently, nudging her energy where it needed to go—enhancing her speed, her footing, her strikes. She felt him lend his steadiness when her grip faltered, his focus when the pain from her wound made her teeth clench. They moved as one, his soul wrapped around hers like a bracer.

The demon started to lose ground. It was still fast, still vicious, but it was no longer laughing.

Rumi kicked off a wall, teleporting mid-air to slam her sword down onto its back. The blade hissed on contact, searing through the sinew and darkness.

The creature howled and crumpled to one knee, black ichor steaming from the gash across its shoulder.

Rumi landed, boots skidding slightly on the cracked ground. She lifted the glowing blade again, breath steady.

“Game over.”

The demon tried to stand but flickered.

Its body began to distort, edges unravelling like ash in the wind. Hollow eyes rolled back, and the edges of its form dissolved into red threads of smoke.

But it didn’t dissolve silently.

Even as it disintegrated, it laughed. That high, broken music-box laugh.

“You burn brighter together… but you can’t run forever…” it hissed, voice skipping like a skipping record. “He sees you… he knows you now… and he wants what’s his…”

Its body warped again, its face split in half with a final grin, jagged teeth stretching impossibly wide.

“Soon… so soon…”

Then—nothing. It burst into red mist, vanishing from their realm entirely.

Rumi stood still, chest rising and falling, the energy blade still pulsing in her grip. She slowly lowered it, and the weapon shimmered softly, its chaotic edge beginning to settle, though the runes still glowed faintly.

Her voice came quiet, ragged, breathless. “…We really need to talk about whatever the hell that was.”

Rumi staggered back, the larger blade in her hand flickering slightly now that the danger had passed. Her shoulder throbbed violently, searing pain pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay upright.

But her legs gave out before her pride could stop them.

With a soft grunt, she crumpled to one knee, clutching her arm. Her fingers came away slick and red, the energy of her sword dimming with the motion.

“Rumi!” Jinu’s voice rang out, sharp with panic. The energy in the sword flared brighter, and she felt the weight of him stir.

“I’m fine,” Rumi muttered stubbornly, even as she slumped against the graffitied wall beside her. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Just a scratch my ass!” Jinu snapped. “You’re practically bleeding out! I can feel it.”

Rumi gave a weak laugh, half-hearted and breathless.

“Well... maybe a slightly inconvenient scratch…” She winced, leaning her head back against the brick. Her vision blurred at the edges. “I just need a minute…”

Silence followed. Then—something shifted.

She felt it first as a stirring inside the sword. Not alarm. Not fear. But something... warmer. Focused.

“Hang on,” Jinu said, voice quieter now, steady. “Let me try something.”

And then it began.

The energy within the blade changed, intensified, and flowed outward, spreading through the tether between them like cool water spilling through a cracked dam. Rumi gasped softly as the sensation bloomed in her shoulder, the sharp, aching heat of the wound dulled by a soothing chill. It was like someone was pouring ice-blue moonlight directly into her veins—refreshing, calming, restorative.

Her pain dulled. Her breath came easier. The throb in her shoulder receded, replaced by tingles and warmth; not burning, but like her body was knitting itself back together with borrowed strength.

“Jinu…” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, sounding just as surprised. “It just… felt intuitive. Like I could give you something. My energy, maybe?”

She watched as the torn flesh of her shoulder gradually closed, skin repairing itself in faint pulses of purplish light. After a few moments, the pain was gone completely. Rumi blinked at her arm in disbelief.

“You healed me.” Her voice was hushed with wonder. “You actually healed me.”

“I—guess I did.” There was a pause. “I didn’t even know I could do that…”

She gave a short laugh, leaning her head back again. “Okay, well, not that I’m not grateful, but… are you gonna stay in the sword forever now? Kinda weird having you in there.”

Jinu was quiet for a beat. “I... don’t actually know how to get out.”

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“...What do you mean you don’t know how to get out?”

“I mean I don’t—okay hang on, let me try—”

The blade flickered again, shifting in Rumi’s grip. The tether inside her twisted, shimmered, snapped—

—and then Jinu was hovering beside her once more, his spirit form slightly more translucent than usual, eyes wide as if he'd just come up for air.

“...Well, that was weird,” he muttered, inspecting his hands.

Rumi tilted her head. “So? What was it like? Being in there?”

Jinu opened his mouth to answer, then froze.

His brow furrowed, confusion sliding into dawning realisation. “...Rumi.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I think—” he paused, then looked her in the eye. “I think that place I was in, before you summoned me? That weird limbo where I could hear and see but not interact? The nothingness?”

She straightened a little, eyes narrowing. “What about it?”

“I think... it might’ve been inside your sword.”

Chapter Text

Rumi hadn't expected her night to end in a half-cleaned apartment, a ripped blood-stiff hoodie on the floor, and an in-depth conversation about the metaphysical logistics of soul-housing in magically manifested swords.

Yet… here they were.

Jinu sat draped along the edge of her couch like he was posing for a moody album cover—one leg up, the other foot on the floor, his back leaned halfway into the cushions in that strange spirit-way of his, like gravity only applied when he felt like it. His hands were tucked behind his head, and his eyes flicked lazily over the ceiling like it owed him money.

Beside him, Tiger was sprawled diagonally across the couch, massive paws twitching in a dream that probably involved violence and raw chicken. Crow was tucked between the pit of Tiger’s belly and the armrest, a glossy oil-slick lump of feathers who occasionally opened three eyes to glare at nothing.

Rumi, meanwhile, was sprawled on the floor with an ice pack wedged under her shoulder and a mug of tea balanced precariously on her knee.

“I thought tonight would end with ramen and sleep,” she muttered. “Instead, it’s… existential sword talk.”

Jinu huffed a dry laugh. “Yeah, not exactly your average post-battle wind-down.”

There was a pause. Comfortable at first, then stretching into something quieter. He was watching her. She could feel it.

“I’ve been thinking about that night,” Jinu said at last, voice softer than before. “The final Saja Boys concert.”

Rumi’s throat tightened. She kept her eyes on the ceiling. “The night we fought Gwi-Ma.”

“The night you fought Gwi-Ma.” Jinu combatted, then fell quiet for a moment, gaze turning inward. “That’s when it happened.”

Rumi’s hand stilled around the mug in her hands. “…When what happened?”

“When I gave you my soul.”

It was the first time he’d said it out loud.

The words didn’t explode or echo. They simply landed, quiet and immense, like fresh snow on a silent street. They softened the room, dulled its edges, reshaped the air between them with a quiet finality. It wasn’t grief that weighed on them now. It was gravity. A shift in orbit neither of them could ignore.

Jinu didn’t meet her eyes at first. His expression was unguarded in a way she rarely saw—brows drawn in a way that spoke of uncertainty, of vulnerability. His mouth was set like he half-regretted saying it, half-knew he had no other choice.

And beneath all of that, she could feel it. That strange, humming link between them pulsing with something raw. Not pain. Not fear. Just truth.

Rumi’s breath caught, her chest tightening with the weight of it. Not because she hadn’t known, because she had, in a way. She’d felt it, deep and instinctive, ever since that night at the final concert. But hearing him say it now, like this, it was like everything inside her re-aligned around the truth of it.

She could feel how much it had cost him, even now. Like the tether between them carried not just his energy, but the emotion he couldn’t quite voice: the sacrifice, the fear, the unspoken wish that maybe she hadn’t had to know.

“Jinu…” she said, softly, voice breaking on his name.

His eyes finally met hers. And for the first time in a long while, he looked like someone who was uncertain, not just pretending to be fine without all the answers. Someone who was still scared of what came next.

“I didn’t know it would… tether me to you like this,” he admitted, the words slow, careful, honest. “That wasn’t the plan. I just wanted to give you what I had left. Just enough to help you finish it. To stop Gwi-Ma.”

He looked down at his hands, ghostlike but still visible, fingers curling inward.

“I didn’t mean for it to become this.”

The confession lingered in the air like smoke, impossible to ignore. Jinu looked away again, but not before Rumi caught the flicker of emotion that crossed his face; an old ache rising to the surface.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. The tether between them pulsed with something deeper now. Not just energy. Memory. Pain. Truth.

Jinu exhaled, more for rhythm than breath, and let the silence stretch just long enough to brace himself.

“After I gave you my soul… I thought I’d died.”

His voice was quiet, but steady. Measured. Like each word was being carefully lifted from a place he’d buried it.

“I thought I’d done my one good thing. The kind of sacrifice they write into myths. And for a second, just a second, I felt peace. Like maybe the ancient gods, or fate, or whatever runs all this, had taken pity on me. That they saw what I’d done and let me move on. Let me finally… rest.”

He paused. His brow furrowed as his jaw clenched tight, the muscle there twitching once before relaxing.

“But it wasn’t the afterlife,” he murmured, his voice fraying at the edges now. “It wasn’t anything. Just… a void.”

He finally looked back at Rumi, and the weight behind his eyes nearly knocked the wind from her. Not just sadness—emptiness.

The kind that didn’t come from loss, but from being lost.

“There was no sky. No ground. No light. No sound. Just… me. Not even my body. I wasn’t physical anymore. I didn’t feel like me. There were no edges, no time. I couldn’t tell if I’d been there for an hour or a hundred years.”

His hand lifted as if to gesture, then dropped again. There was nothing to show. No words that could make sense of something so senseless.

“I floated. I waited. At first, I thought I’d done something wrong. That maybe this was my punishment. For everything. For what I did when I was alive. For what I was.”

A sharp breath hitched in his throat. He blinked once, slowly, deliberately, and when his gaze met Rumi’s again, she could feel it: the quiet desperation. The shame. The aching question of whether he deserved any better.

“I wasn’t angry,” he added after a beat, voice almost a whisper now. “Just… hollow. Like the universe had forgotten me. Like I didn’t exist anymore, except in the shape of a memory no one remembered.”

Rumi’s fingers tightened against her knee, knuckles pale. Her heart hurt in a way that didn’t feel like her own—and maybe it wasn’t. The tether throbbed again, and with it came a wave of emotion so sharp, so deep, it was hard to tell where Jinu ended, and she began.

He lowered his head, eyes cast down toward the shadows at his feet.

“I don’t know how long I was there,” he said. “But after a while… I stopped hoping to be found.”

Jinu was quiet for a long moment. Rumi thought he might stop there, let the silence bury whatever still sat heavy on his chest, but then he drew a breath, slow and tremulous, and continued.

“But then… I started seeing you.”

His eyes flicked up, just for a moment, and in them, something glimmered. Not light. Not hope. Something older. Something aching.

“I didn’t know how or why at the time. I thought maybe it was because I gave you my soul. Maybe that act bound us in a way neither of us could undo. But I started hearing your voice. Just fragments at first. Soft. Flickering. I’d see your silhouette. Your laugh. Feel your joy. Your worry. Your fire.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, fragile and fond, like the memory of sunlight through glass.

“And I thought… maybe this was my afterlife. That my sacrifice had earned me a sliver of mercy. A window into your world. A chance to watch over you.” His gaze softened. “And I was content with that. Truly. After everything I did, everything I was, just being able to see you live… that would’ve been enough.”

Rumi felt her chest tighten. There was something unbearably gentle in his voice now, something so at odds with the fierce, cocky demon she’d once known. And yet, so unmistakably him.

“But then,” he said, voice turning hollow again, “I started to feel your pain.”

The words hit her like a chill wind, cutting through the tether between them.

“That same hollowness I’d been drowning in… it echoed in you. But it was different. Yours wasn’t a void like mine. It was full, so full, of the life you were pretending not to feel. Of guilt. Of loneliness. Of me.”

He swallowed hard.

“I tried to reach out. I tried, Rumi. I thought maybe I could whisper to you. Wrap around you. Comfort you. But it was all in vain. No matter what I did, you couldn’t hear me.”

Her eyes stung, and she didn’t know when the tears had started gathering there. She clenched her jaw to stop the quiver in her lip, but it didn’t help.

“And then…” he continued, a different note entering his voice—strange and reverent, like he was speaking of something divine, “you were in danger. Real danger. Your soul… it cried out.”

He raised his hand slightly, as if gesturing to something only he could see. His fingers trembled in the space between them.

“I saw it. This light. Golden, and fierce, and beautiful. It cut through the void like a beacon It didn’t just glow—it reached. And it touched me. Guided me. And somehow—somehow—it gave me a way to speak to you.”

Rumi inhaled sharply. She could remember it now. Hearing his voice so clearly in her mind. The presence that had steadied her hand when it should have faltered. She stared at Jinu, breath caught in her throat.

“The water demon fight…” she whispered. “That was the first time I heard you.”

Jinu nodded slowly, his face soft with memory. “You were so close to giving up. But then… there was a spark. You heard me. And I—” His voice caught, just for a second. “I knew I wasn’t gone. Not yet.”

The silence between them was full of meaning now. Raw. Gripping. Threaded through with grief and wonder in equal measure.

“You saved me that night,” Rumi said softly.

“No,” Jinu replied, his voice rough with truth. “You saved me.”

The words lingered in the air like steam off cooling tea, delicate and real.

Jinu’s face shifted as he said it, his brows twitching faintly downward, not in sorrow, but in some quiet, overwhelmed tenderness. His mouth parted like he might say more, but the weight of the truth sat on his chest, keeping him still.

He looked almost younger in that moment, stripped of bravado, bare beneath the flickering light. His eyes, always sharp with wit or fire, now shimmered with something gentler. A kind of gratitude that seemed too vast for language. The muscles in his jaw tightened and released, like he was fighting off something. Not tears, exactly, but the impulse to fold in on himself, to hide the enormity of what he’d just admitted.

And Rumi… she felt it. All of it.

It moved through the tether like a pulse of heat and ache — his vulnerability, the fragile awe blooming inside him. It pressed against her own ribs like a second heartbeat. She felt her throat catch, her breath hitch.

Jinu’s eyes flicked to hers, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The stillness wasn’t uncomfortable. It was almost sacred. Something unspoken passed between them, humming just beneath the skin.

Then, slowly, he lowered his gaze, like the weight of his realisation had pulled his whole body forward. He sat with his elbows on his knees, fingers laced, like he was trying to hold his thoughts together. Or maybe just steady himself.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was more certain , but his expression still carried that tremble of awe, of revelation still forming.

“When I was inside your sword tonight… it felt the same,” he murmured. “The same as that first place I was in after I gave you my soul.”

He looked back at her, expression tightening with a mix of realisation and awe.

“I think that void, the one I was trapped in, was your sword. Or... something connected to it. When I gave you my soul, it must’ve been drawn into the blade. Stored there somehow. Waiting. Maybe because your weapon’s made of energy — your energy. And when our souls tethered, it created a place for me to stay.”

He paused, gathering the thought as if it had only just come into focus.

“And when you summoned me that first time… I think it was the tether. You must’ve pulled me out, without even knowing how. Like it let you reach in and find me.”

Rumi’s eyes widened slightly. “So… your soul had just been inside my sword the whole time?”

“Seems like it… until you were able to pull me out that first time.” He gave a quiet, almost incredulous laugh. “And tonight, when I went back in, it wasn’t like before. It didn’t feel empty or cold. It felt... alive. Like there was no wall between us this time. Like I could feel you, all of you. I could offer my energy to you directly.”

She blinked at him, trying to piece it together. “Is it because we’re aware of the tether now? That it’s stronger?”

Jinu let the silence stretch for a moment, the warm light of the apartment catching in his eyes as they softened with thought. He met her gaze, and something in his expression flickered. Not quite a smile, but something warmer. More certain.

“It’s strange,” he said quietly. “It’s almost like… the deeper our connection grows, the more we can do. Like the tether’s evolving with us. With how we trust, how we feel—” He faltered, eyes flicking toward her just briefly before retreating again, his voice softening. “Like it’s not just some magical link anymore. It’s becoming something else. Something powerful.”

Rumi tilted her head, lips curling in a dry little smirk, though there was no real bite behind it.

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing we decided not to kill each other back then.”

Jinu gave a short, breathy laugh; the kind that came with too many memories packed into too small a space. He glanced at her again, longer this time, and something unspoken flickered between them in that narrow space of quiet.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low, steady. “It really is.”

The tension between them wasn’t loud. It didn’t roar or blaze. It shimmered, quiet and steady, like heat clinging to the air long after the sun had set. Rumi looked away first, swallowing as she studied her hands, her jaw tensing like there was something she didn’t dare let herself say.

Jinu’s gaze lingered. There was a softness to his features now, a calm reverence threaded into the way he looked at her, like she was something both fragile and immense, something he didn’t quite know how to hold.

She glanced back at him, only to find him already watching her, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The world around them seemed to narrow to just that moment — light, shadows, two people sitting a little too close in the aftermath of everything.

Rumi cleared her throat, trying to find her balance again. “So… you can jump into my sword whenever you want now, huh?”

Jinu smiled, just a touch lopsided, just a touch too gentle. “Guess I’m always closer than you think.”

And God, she could feel it — not just the tether, not just the warmth of him brushing against her thoughts, but him. The weight of everything unsaid sitting right there between them.

A breath passed. Then another.

And then Rumi murmured, more to herself than to him, “Closer than anyone ever has been.”

Chapter Text

It was funny, almost domestic, how quickly they had settled into a rhythm.

By day, Rumi and Jinu trained relentlessly. Her teleportation magic had become sharper, quicker, more precise. Jinu pushed her to test its limits, appearing behind her with teasing jabs that forced her to blink-step out of danger, or daring her to cross distances faster than ever before.

And now, there was something new to explore.

His uncanny ability to merge with her sword. Sometimes, during a sparring match, he would disappear mid-movement, only for her blade to glow faintly with an iridescent purple pulse before her magic surged like fire in her veins.

The first few times, it startled her.

Now, they were learning how to time it. How long he could stay. How it amplified her. Whether she could call on him while the sword was already drawn. Each time, it felt like they were learning something ancient, something that belonged to them alone.

By night, they patrolled the city.

There hadn't been any new Honmoon breaches since their last battle, but they both agreed it was better to be cautious. The streets of Seoul hummed with neon quiet and late-night life, but their eyes stayed sharp—scanning rooftops, alleyways, subway entrances, anywhere a tear in the realms might form.

And yet, with every empty patrol, Rumi couldn’t help but circle back to the same gnawing thought: Why her?

What did she have that this demon master wanted? What part of her fate had she stumbled into? Her fingers would tighten reflexively around the hilt at her side, Jinu often glancing over without needing to ask. She never said it aloud, but the questions never left her mind.

In the quiet hours between patrol and training, they’d find time for their ‘field trips’—a name Jinu had given their small mortal world excursions with more affection than he’d ever admit aloud.

One week, they wandered through the winding markets of Gwangjang, where Jinu eyed the vats of wriggling seafood with a suspicious scowl—ironic, considering he regularly saw demons and was technically one himself.

Another trip took them to the Seoul Sky Observatory, where Jinu pressed his hand against the glass of the 123rd floor, marvelling at how small everything looked from above.

“You mortals build towers just to feel like gods,” he’d mused.

One warm evening, they strolled side by side along Cheonggyecheon Stream, the soft glow of lanterns flickering in the water as city noise gave way to the hush of flowing current and quiet laughter.

Each excursion was strange, chaotic, and a little wonderful.

The nights usually ended the same. A historical K-drama flickering on Rumi’s living room TV, Tiger purring against her side, Crow tucked against her neck. Rumi would fall asleep sometime around the midpoint, mug of barley tea half-drunk on the table, while Jinu sat on the floor nearby, arms crossed, pretending not to be invested in the romance subplot.

Even so, he always let the episode run until the end.

Somehow, today’s outing had them wind up atop N Seoul Tower, balanced near the red-and-white spire like it was the most natural thing in the world. They were far above the observation deck, so high the noise of the city felt like a distant hum, like Seoul itself had been reduced to a living postcard beneath their feet.

Rumi perched on the narrow ledge just beneath the tower's iconic red and white spire, her legs dangling freely over the side, wind tugging at her jacket and whipping strands of hair across her face.

Jinu stood just behind her, leaning one hand against the cold metal railing, the other resting lazily in his coat pocket. His eyes scanned the horizon, golden and thoughtful, as the sun began to sink behind the far mountains. The entire sky had turned soft pink and molten orange, and the light made Rumi glow like something sacred.

“You know,” she called out over her shoulder, glancing down at the ant-sized buildings below, “this is probably a terrible idea for someone who is technically supposed to be keeping a low profile.”

“No one’s looking up here.” Jinu said dryly, stepping closer.

“No one can get up here,” she added, nudging the railing with her boot. “Except us.”

She looked over at him, the breeze catching in her lashes.

“It’s weirdly peaceful. Kind of romantic, if you ignore the whole vertigo-inducing part.”

Jinu arched an eyebrow and stepped beside her, his boots steady on the narrow beam.

“Romantic?” he echoed, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Is that your subtle way of confessing something?”

Rumi gave him a look, lips curling into a half-smirk. “If I was confessing something, you’d know it. I’m not subtle.”

He tilted his head, golden eyes narrowing with mock consideration. “True. You’re more the type to shove someone off a building and catch them halfway down to prove a point.”

“Only if they deserved it.”

“Do I?”

Her smile widened. “You? You’ve been on thin ice since the first moment you smirked at me.”

“That’s unfair,” he said, dramatically pressing a hand to his heart. “My smirk is a natural facial setting.”

She laughed, bright and unexpected, echoing faintly in the open air. The sound made Jinu’s expression soften. He sat beside her then, their shoulders almost brushing as he joined her in dangling his legs over the side of the world.

“You laugh more now,” he said softly, without looking at her. “I like it.”

The sincerity in his voice struck her off guard, gentle and disarming. She blinked, trying to play it off, but her cheeks warmed anyway.

“You’re the one who keeps giving me reasons to.”

His smile turned softer as he turned to look at her, more real. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep it up.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, watching the golden haze deepen into crimson.

Then Rumi spoke, voice quieter now. “Can I ask you something?”

Jinu looked at her, serious again. “Of course.”

“Why me?” Her gaze stayed on the horizon. “I mean, whoever this demon master is… they’re clearly not just after Hunters. They’re after me specifically. Why?”

Jinu’s eyes lingered on her profile, on the way the wind teased her hair, on the worry tucked just behind her bravado.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I intend for us to find out, somehow. And stop them. Whatever it takes.”

She nodded slowly, lips pressed together. “Okay.”

A beat passed, thick with something quiet and meaningful.

“You trust me?” he asked softly.

She turned to face him. “Yeah. I do.”

The sun had dipped just below the edge of the mountains now, and the sky flared one last time before slipping toward twilight. Jinu studied her face in that light, caught between gold and shadow, and something unspoken flickered behind his eyes.

“I’m glad,” he said finally, voice low. “Because I don’t think I could do this without you either.”

Rumi gave a playful nudge toward his shoulder, just a breath away, since they couldn’t actually touch; yet the tension between them crackled like a live wire

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing we have each other.” She murmured, offering him a crooked grin.

Jinu’s answering smile was slow, almost fond. “Yeah. It really is.”

And high above the world, on the edge of something both terrifying and beautiful, they stayed there, together. Two hearts tethered not just by power, but by something quieter, deeper. Something they didn’t dare name just yet.

But it was there, all the same.

And neither of them was letting go.

~

That night, after their quiet descent from the tower, Rumi felt lighter than she had in days. The evening breeze still clung to her skin, the echo of Jinu’s teasing words warming her cheeks even now. She was smiling as she unlocked the door to her apartment, already thinking about which ridiculous sageuk they’d throw on before she inevitably passed out on the couch.

But the second the door opened, the smile slipped clean off her face.

There, standing in the middle of her living room, framed by the soft glow of the hallway light, was Celine.

Rumi stopped cold.

Her breath hitched. Her heart didn’t just drop—it plummeted, like a glass chandelier cut from its chain, shattering somewhere deep inside her. The warmth in her body fled so fast it left her dizzy. Her lungs forgot how to breathe. Her fingers, still on the doorknob, began to tremble.

She darted a glance to her side.

Jinu.

He stood there in his spirit form, his blue outline glowing softly against the dimness of the apartment. Her mind reeled.

No. No, no— Jinu couldn't be seen. He wasn’t supposed to be here. This… this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Celine being here, unannounced, unexpected, in her home—it felt like the fragile thing she’d been building with Jinu had been cracked open and exposed to the world. Like someone had stolen something precious from her without even touching it.

Could Celine see him?

Did she know about him?

It felt like the door had opened and let in a storm. Like something private and sacred was being yanked out of her hands. Her chest tightened, her vision fuzzed at the edges, and her thoughts scattered like startled birds. This thing she’d found, this impossible tether to Jinu, delicate and strange and theirs… She couldn’t bear to have it taken away. Not now. Not when she was finally starting to feel whole again.

“Rumi.”

Jinu’s voice echoed, soft and steady like sunlight through storm clouds.

“Look at me.”

She couldn’t move at first. But she felt him step closer, spirit form drawing up beside her like a wind she knew by name. The bluish-silver light of him shimmered faintly, like moonlight caught in fog. He tilted his head, eyes gentle.

“She doesn’t see me. I promise. It’s just you and me, like always.”

Her throat worked as she tried to swallow past the fear, the grief, the strange ache of being seen and unseen all at once.

“You’re safe,” Jinu murmured. “Nothing’s broken. Nothing’s gone. I’m still here.”

He reached out, though he couldn’t touch her, not really, but even the echo of that gesture calmed something frayed inside her.

“Just breathe for me, alright?”

She inhaled shakily. Once. Twice.

He smiled gently, proud. “There she is.”

And just like that, the free-fall slowed. Her hands stilled. Her pulse began to crawl its way back to something manageable. The storm passed, or at least softened.

Celine hadn’t moved. She seemed oblivious to the sharp edge Rumi had just been balanced on.

Still watching Jinu from the corner of her eye, Rumi finally stepped into the room, closing the door behind her like nothing had happened.

“Celine,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “What are you doing here?”

Celine raised an eyebrow, arms folding as she stepped further into the room with casual authority, like it was still hers to walk through uninvited.

“You haven’t been answering any of my messages. Calls, texts—radio silence. I figured it was time to stop waiting for an invitation.”

Rumi’s heart squeezed. She had been ignoring Celine, deliberately leaving messages unread and letting voicemails pile up. Ever since that awful conversation at Celine’s house a few weeks ago—when everything had unravelled and Celine had looked at her not like a daughter, not even like a person, but something wrong.

Rumi hadn’t had it in her to face her. The disapproval. The silence. The unwillingness to accept the part of her that wasn’t human.

“I’ve been busy,” she said, flatly.

Celine gave a tight smile, all veneer, no warmth. “It sure seems like it.”

There was a long pause, taut and brittle.

“So,” Rumi said finally, trying to sound unaffected. “What’s up? What’s so important you had to come by in person?”

“There’s a Legacy Tribute Event next week,” Celine said, her tone even, but with a familiar steel beneath. “It’s to honour second-gen idols. People like the Sunlight Sisters.”

The name landed heavy in the room.

Rumi stiffened. Of course. The Sunlight Sisters—one of the most iconic groups in K-pop history. Celine’s group.

Her mother’s group.

Before everything else, before Huntrix and the headlines and the demon blood in her veins, Rumi had grown up in the long shadow of their stardom. Their legacy.

“You need to be there,” Celine added, stepping closer now, not unkind but immovable. “For your mother.”

A beat of silence. Rumi’s jaw clenched.

“And I’m supposed to go,” Rumi said, bitterness creeping in beneath her words, “to play the part of the grateful daughter, basking in her dead mother’s spotlight.”

Celine’s brows pinched. “You’re not playing anything. You are her daughter. And whether you like it or not, people will expect you there.”

That struck a nerve. 

“Oh, so now I’m good enough to represent her?” The words tumbled out sharper than she intended, her voice rising before she could rein it in. “You spent weeks pretending I was some kind of mistake—and now you want me to play the perfect daughter for a photo op?”

Celine straightened, eyes sharp. “Don’t twist this. You stopped answering me, Rumi. I gave you space after what happened, and I figured you’d reach out when you were ready.”

“But did you ever think that maybe I didn’t want space,” Rumi snapped. “I wanted you. But instead of being my mentor, my family, you looked at me like I’d turned into something disgusting.”

“I never said that,” Celine shot back, voice rising. “But I needed time to understand what I was even dealing with! You think it’s easy? One day you’re a girl I raised like my own, the next you’re—” She gestured vaguely, like the word demon caught in her throat and soured there.

That did it.

Rumi felt heat surge to her face. It wasn’t just anger. It was grief, barely held together by brittle threads. Her mother was dead. And Celine, the woman who'd half-raised her, couldn’t even look at her the same way anymore.

Rumi took a step forward, rage boiling up fast and hot. “Say it. Just say it, Celine. You’re scared of me. You think I’m tainted. You think I don’t belong in that spotlight anymore.”

Celine’s eyes flashed. “I think your mother would be heartbroken if she saw what you’ve become.”

The silence that followed was ice-sharp.

Rumi flinched. Her breathing stuttered. Somewhere deep in her chest, something fragile cracked.

Then—

A cool presence brushed her shoulder. She didn't need to look to know it was Jinu, his spirit form close beside her. His voice came gently spoke, calm and low like ripples over still water.

“Rumi,” he said gently. “Don’t let her pull you into this. You don’t need to bleed to prove yourself to her. You already know who you are.”

Her fists trembled at her sides. Her vision blurred—not with tears, but fury. Pain. That old aching wound Celine always managed to cut open so effortlessly. But Jinu’s presence grounded her, steady and tender, a whisper of wind through wildfire.

She took a breath. Then another. Her voice, when it came, was lower, rough around the edges.

“You don’t get to weaponize her memory against me,” she said. “Not after everything.”

Celine’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t argue.

“I’ll go,” Rumi muttered. “For her. Not for you.”

She turned to leave, her boots hitting the floor with clipped finality. But before she could make it halfway down the hall, Celine’s voice followed her, quieter this time, but no less pointed.

“As long as you’re there,” Celine said.

Rumi stopped.

A bitter laugh slipped out of her.

“So long as appearances are kept up, right?” she said without turning around. Her voice was hollow, razor-edged. “Wouldn’t want anyone thinking the Sunlight Sisters legacy isn’t still perfectly golden.”

Silence stretched between them — taut, trembling.

Then Rumi started walking again, her back stiff with restrained fury.

“Feel free to let yourself out,” she threw over her shoulder, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway.

Jinu lingered a moment longer, his gaze flicking between the doorway Rumi had vanished through and Celine, who stood frozen in place, jaw tight. There was no anger in his expression. Just quiet disappointment — something softer, sadder. And though Celine could not see him, he hoped that she could sense his presence, sense the turmoil she was putting Rumi through.

He drifted a step closer, the air around him humming faintly with a spectral stillness. His spirit shimmered faintly in the dim light, as if reacting to the weight of the unspoken words left hanging in the room.

“You’re hurting her,” he murmured into the space between them — not expecting a response, but needing to say it. “You think you’re protecting what’s left of her mother’s memory. But all you’re doing is carving pieces out of her.”

Celine didn’t move, didn’t hear him.

But Jinu stayed for a few more seconds anyway, staring at the woman who had once claimed to care for Rumi like a daughter, wondering how love could become so conditional, so blind.

~

Rumi lay curled on her side in the half-light of her bedroom, the soft whirr of the ceiling fan above doing little to cut through the dense fog pressing in on her chest. Hours had passed, or maybe more. Time had blurred into a long, uneven stretch marked by waves of sleep and the hollow ache of waking up again.

She felt carved out, scraped raw and hollow from the inside out.

There was no sobbing, no sharp, cathartic pain — just a numbness so thick it felt like being submerged in something heavy and dark. Her limbs ached from lying in one position too long, but moving felt like too much. Even blinking took effort.

It wasn't just the argument. Not just the sharp words or the bitter edge to Celine’s voice. It was the way she'd wielded Rumi’s mother like a weapon, this ghost of a woman Rumi barely remembered, rarely heard about.

Celine only ever spoke of her in fragments, in vague praises and evasive tones. And yet tonight, she had summoned her memory like a trump card, all but slamming it down between them with a righteous flourish.

How dare she?

Rumi stared blankly at the wall, jaw clenched, throat tight. It was the kind of betrayal that didn’t hit like fire; it was cold, bone-deep. The kind that made you feel like a child again, small and powerless and completely alone.

She didn’t even hear Jinu at first. His spirit flickered gently into view near the foot of her bed, barely making a sound.

He stood there for a long moment, as if waiting for her to notice him, or perhaps debating whether now was the right time.

“I didn’t think you’d want me hovering.” He said finally, voice low, careful.

Rumi didn’t lift her head. Her eyes stayed fixed on the cracks in her ceiling paint, her voice flat.

“Thanks. You were right.”

Jinu took a step closer, folding his arms loosely. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

She let out a breath that was almost a laugh, bitter and without any humour. “There’s not much to say. It’s the same old same old with Celine.”

His silence encouraged her to keep going, even if her voice felt like it was running on fumes.

“Ever since I started… accepting what I am, she’s been pulling away. Or maybe she’s just showing who she’s always been and I’m only now seeing it for real. I don’t know.” She blinked slowly, her mouth tightening. “She says she loves me like her own. But she only ever seems to want the version of me that fits into her neat little boxes. The Hunter version. The safe one.”

Jinu sat beside her, though his body passed slightly through the edge of the bed.

“The version that makes her feel like she still has control,” he murmured.

Rumi closed her eyes. “Yeah.”

The room was quiet again. The only sound was the quiet buzz of a world continuing outside without her.

“I don’t even know who my mom was, not really,” she said suddenly, voice cracking. “And she won’t tell me. But now, suddenly, I’m supposed to show up to this event and… honour her? Like I’m a stand-in? Like I should be grateful just to be part of the memory?”

She swallowed, throat thick.

“It’s cruel.”

Jinu didn’t disagree. He just reached out, his hand brushing just above her shoulder in a near-touch, the ghost of comfort.

“It is.”

Rumi stayed quiet for a long moment, eyes tracing the hairline crack in the ceiling like a road that refused to end. When she finally spoke again, her voice was smaller than she meant it to be.

“I want to know more about her,” she whispered. “About my mother. And my father.” The last word snagged in her throat. “I don’t even know where to start. Celine never tells me anything real. Just… polished stories. Pretty fragments. Nothing with edges.” She swallowed. “What if the only people who ever knew the truth are gone?”

Jinu was silent, considering. When he answered, his voice was gentle—careful, like he was laying the words down somewhere fragile.

“Then we don’t start here,” he said. “Maybe we start… there.”

Rumi turned her head, meeting his eyes in the dim. “In the demon realm?”

He nodded. “There are archives. Families. People who remember things longer than mortals do. Rumours that fossilize into records. Your father was a demon; someone is bound to know something. Someone might remember your mother, too—if she crossed between worlds.”

Rumi pushed herself upright, the blanket sliding down her shoulders.

“You’d help me do that?” The question came out raw, unguarded. “You’d help me find out more about them?”

“Of course,” he said, like there was never going to be any other answer. “If it matters to you, it matters to me.”

Her breath stuttered. Gratitude swelled in her chest so quickly it hurt a little.

“Thank you.” She replied, softly.

He smiled, faint and lopsided. “For the record, this is the part where I’d give you a hug.”

A shaky laugh escaped her. “Show-off.”

“Tragic, really,” he went on, mock-solemn. “I’ve been told I’m excellent at them.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed, wetter around the edges than she meant it to be. He moved closer, instinctively, and she leaned toward him without thinking, like a tide drawn to its moon. For a heartbeat the space between them felt charged, the air thinned to a single, shimmering thread.

If he’d had a body, their foreheads might have touched. If he’d had a pulse, she would have felt it.

They both seemed to realize it at the same time.

The moment broke—not sharply, but like breath fog fading from glass. Jinu eased back first, gaze flicking away, a rueful softness tugging at his mouth.

“I should let you sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll—uh—I’ll be in the living room.”

“Wait.” The word left her fast, almost startled. She reached out on instinct, hand stopping short in the air where his wrist would be. “Don’t go.”

He looked at her.

“I mean… usually I know you’re out there,” she said, suddenly self-conscious, fingers curling into the blanket. “But tonight—I don’t want to be alone. Not after… all of that.” Her eyes searched his face. “Will you stay? Just—here. With me.”

Something in his expression loosened—an ache easing, a line unspooling. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Of course.”

He laid down beside her on top of the covers, mirroring her position, facing her with a careful inch of space between them. He couldn’t sink into the mattress the way a living body would, but he seemed to settle anyway, as if the bed allowed him this small kindness. The room glowed faintly with his presence; not light exactly, but a gentling of the dark.

Rumi shifted closer, pillow rustling, her breath evening out by degrees. Tiger nosed the bedroom door open with a sleepy huff and collapsed at the foot of the bed, while Crow tucked into a feathery comma on the dresser, one bright eye half-open as if standing watch.

Between Rumi and Jinu, the tether woke like a quiet river.

No longer a frantic buzz, but a steady, reassuring current. It threaded through her sternum and along the line of her spine, cool as night air and warm as cupped hands, knitting the ragged edges of the day back together. She felt the hum of him, the contour of his calm, the low thrum of his care, like someone laying a palm over a bruise without pressing.

“Better?” he asked softly.

She nodded, eyes slipping closed. “Yeah. It’s… quieter when you’re here.”

He exhaled, almost a laugh. “Same.”

For a while there was only the hush of the fan and the small sounds of a home remembering how to breathe. Rumi’s thoughts drifted; her mother’s laugh she barely remembered, a father’s shadow she’d never seen, a path through a realm that frightened and beckoned in equal measure.

Each time the worry rose, the tether answered—smoothing it down, reminding her of the shape of him beside her.

Her hand inched forward under the blanket, palm open on the sheet between them. He matched the gesture with his own, and though their fingers couldn’t meet, warmth gathered in the space they made for each other.

Two outlines aligned, a promise without touch.

The tether settled around them like a second quilt, light as breath, sure as gravity, and for the first time that night, the numbness receded. Not vanished, but held. And held was enough. Within that gentle pull, Rumi drifted, the hollow inside her no longer an emptiness, but a room with someone waiting in it—lamplight on, door ajar, home.

“Goodnight, Rumi,” Jinu murmured.

“Goodnight,” she whispered back, voice already thick with sleep. After a beat, softer: “Please don’t leave after I fall asleep…”

As sleep tugged at her senses, a quiet promise drifted back through the dark.

“I won’t.”

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Rumi hated, loathed with her whole chest, it was this.

Being dolled up, shoved into some glitzy designer dress, and forced to smile through a gala that had nothing to do with her but everything to do with what she’d lost. Dragged through the polished hellscape of the entertainment industry’s elite nostalgia circuit.

The Legacy Tribute Event was in full swing.

Held in the grand ballroom of The Shilla Seoul, a luxury hotel nestled in the heart of the city, it was an over-produced fever dream of nostalgia and gloss, celebrating the golden era of second-gen K-pop idols.

The walls shimmered with digital projections—looped concert footage, stylised images of album covers, highlight reels from music show wins. There were neon-pink flower walls, champagne towers, a literal red carpet, and a branded step-and-repeat where tribute acts posed in glittering replicas of old stage outfits.

It was a tribute to an era, one that Rumi’s mother had helped define, and one Celine had fought to keep alive.

Rumi stood stiffly near the back of the room, fingers curled around a sweating glass of champagne, trying to pretend she wasn’t about to combust.

The dress Celine had picked out for her was navy satin, elegant and modest by idol standards, and fit like a glove but felt like a costume. Her heels already hurt. Her makeup was flawless, and completely unlike her.

She didn’t feel like herself, like the person she had slowly become. She felt like a mannequin with her mother’s cheekbones.

If there was one thing Rumi hated more than the artificial gloss of the industry, it was being expected to smile through it like she belonged.

Around her, Seoul’s entertainment aristocracy mingled with media executives, stylists, choreographers, former idols and rookies alike. People around her blended in a sea of designer gowns and luxury suits, buzzing with excitement and a strange, performative reverence. Legacy idols laughed with fans-turned-reporters, stylists gossiped in corners, and the younger performers fluttered nervously around any remaining OG members like they were gods in borrowed skin.

The conversations buzzed in a soft hum—half in reverence, half in branding.

Rumi was certain that she hadn’t said a word in the last twenty minutes.

Her cheeks still ached from the red carpet.

That had been a show of its own: flashbulbs, camera drones, a sea of screaming fans. She’d kept her expression soft, open. Smiled when someone shouted her name. She’d dodged questions with smooth ease—What’s the status of Huntrix? When’s the next comeback? Are you working on any solo projects?

She gave them all the same polished answers, “Everyone’s doing well. The hiatus was a long time coming. We’re each taking time to reflect and recharge.”

She said it all like she meant it.

Her eyes flicked toward the stage, where a screen played muted footage of her mother mid-performance. The room seemed to hush whenever that footage cycled back. There she was again—iconic, untouchable, glowing. Rumi hadn’t meant to watch it, but it kept catching her peripheral vision like a memory she hadn’t meant to remember.

She exhaled slowly.

“You handled the carpet well,” came Jinu’s voice beside her, low and warm. “Would’ve fooled me if I didn’t know better.”

She didn’t need to turn her head to see him. She could feel the warmth of his presence as surely as if he stood beside her in the flesh, though to anyone else in the room, she was alone.

Just a girl in a satin gown, standing a little too still beneath a glimmering chandelier.

Rumi shifted her gaze toward him without moving her head, her lips twitching. “Was it that good?”

“You even hit the sad-but-dignified pause after the word ‘recharge.’ It was masterful.”

“All those years of media training,” she muttered, then took a sip from the glass nested in her hand.

Jinu smirked, hands tucked into his pockets as he leaned beside her, or more accurately, through the gilded column that framed her left shoulder.

“You’re lucky,” he said. “The Saja boys didn’t last long enough to get dragged into this circus.”

Rumi actually laughed; soft and breathy, surprising even herself. “You at a red carpet event. I can’t even picture it.”

“Because I wouldn’t have survived it. I’d rather face Gwi-Ma and all his miserable soul-sucking spawn again than be stuffed into a tux and paraded around for flashbulbs.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “You’d have burned the building down.”

“I’d have started with the stylist. No one touches my hair.”

“You’d look good in glitter eyeliner, though.”

“I do look good in glitter eyeliner,” he shot back smoothly, and Rumi felt that familiar ripple of comfort spread across her chest like a tide receding; tension eased by the rhythm of him.

There was a time, not that long ago, when Rumi wouldn’t have survived an event like this without Zoey or Mira by her side; buffers in the chaos, familiar hands squeezing hers just off-camera. But even then, even with their support and easy banter, she’d always felt like she had to perform.

Not for the cameras, not really.

For Celine.

She could still remember the weight of those glances. The expectation in every nod. The subtle, approving tilt of Celine’s head when Rumi said the right thing. Stood the right way. Flashed the perfect smile at the right moment.

And the ache when she didn’t. When she slipped. When she faltered.

It was always about being the best version of herself. Not for herself, but for the approval that had once meant everything.

But now...

She glanced toward Jinu, his outline a shimmering blue at the edges of her perception—not quite light, not quite shadow. Just there. Ever-present. No expectations. No judgement.

Just Jinu.

Since that night on the rooftop, and every night after, she’d felt herself softening into something she didn’t fully recognise. Something quieter. Rawer. Less curated.

Since that night on the rooftop, and every night after, she’d felt herself softening into something she didn’t fully recognise. Something quieter. Rawer. Less curated.

She’d told him things she’d never even admitted to herself.

Let him see the mess beneath the perfect veneer. And he hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t offered pity. Just listened, steady and constant, like a thread tying her back to who she really was beneath all the shine.

And now, standing in the middle of everything she used to think mattered, Rumi felt it — a subtle shift inside her. Like something that had been wound tight for years was finally starting to loosen.

She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Not tonight.

She didn’t care if her lipstick was still perfect. Didn’t care if the media speculated. Didn’t care if Celine was watching.

And she certainly didn’t care about giving the right answers.

Jinu, invisible to everyone else in the room, tilted his head slightly toward her, as if he felt the change too. His voice brushed into her thoughts like velvet.

“Thinking loud again.”

She gave a small, tired smile. “Always.”

They were weaving their way through the outer fringe of the ballroom floor, the low buzz of voices swelling behind them as more guests poured in. Rumi was distracted, half-listening to Jinu, half-watching a pair of rookie idols dancing with ridiculous flair near an installation—when she rounded a corner and nearly collided with someone coming the other way.

“Oh—sorry, I didn’t—”

The words caught mid-air.

“Miss Rumi, a pleasant surprise.”

The voice was unmistakable; smooth, lacquered with amusement, and entirely unwelcome.

Rumi turned slowly, Jinu already steady at her side in spirit form. No one else noticed the slight shift in air pressure, or the curl of unease that wrapped around her spine like silk.

Rak.

He looked down at her with that ever-smirking curve to his mouth, something dangerous and entertained all at once. Sharp suit, crisp tie, and that same inhuman stillness that clung to him like a shadow. All tailored edges and darkened polish, the kind of handsome that was too perfect to be real. Which, of course, it wasn’t.

Rak’s eyes flicked to Jinu and back again, glinting with recognition. He looked wholly at ease in the opulence, a shark in calm waters.

“And Jinu,” he added. “Still haunting her every step, I see. It’s almost sweet.”

Jinu didn’t respond right away. His form flickered a little beside her, coalescing more firmly, like he was stepping closer into her shadow.

“I don’t haunt,” he said mildly. “I anchor.”

“Semantics,” Rak replied, lifting his glass to them both. “But I suppose even anchors can be endearing, under the right circumstances.”

He was toying with them. Rumi knew it. But something about his presence always made it hard to pull away, like being close to the edge of a fire just warm enough to be dangerous.

“What are you doing here?” Rumi asked, almost accusingly, “Didn’t think this sort of thing would be your scene. Bit too... mortal, no?”

 “It’s exactly my scene.” Rak chuckled low, voice smooth as aged whisky.

He gestured around with his glass, like the music and noise and swirling gowns were self-explanatory.

“Come now. You think I’d miss an event like this? The glitz, the idol worship, the undercurrent of vanity wrapped in nostalgia? It’s practically a feast. I am a patron of the arts, Rumi.”

Jinu folded his arms, and the faint hum of his energy sharpened. “You really are a demon.”

“And demons can’t enjoy culture?” Rak countered, tilting his head. “Tsk. How very closed-minded.”

The air between Jinu and Rak seemed to thrum with an invisible charge, like two storms circling the same sky. There was an undercurrent of something old and unspoken—power brushing against power, veiled in polite smiles and cool glances.

Jinu’s posture had subtly shifted, shoulders squared just slightly more, as if his body had already decided to shield Rumi before his mind caught up. Rak, ever perceptive, looked amused by the shift, his gaze flicking between them with the satisfaction of someone who’d lit a match and was watching it burn slow.

Still, she narrowed her eyes. “You’re not here for the canapés.”

“Oh, but I am,” he said, almost offended. “Your world has truly mastered finger food. And anyway, you’re here, aren’t you?”

There was something pointed in the way he said it. Something lingering.

“Don’t read into it,” she said, folding her arms loosely. “I was dragged.”

He raised an elegant brow. “And yet, you’re surviving it. Performing beautifully. I must say, your smile on the carpet was almost convincing. Almost.”

Her jaw twitched slightly before she could stop it. Jinu stepped fractionally closer — a reflex, protective even if Rak posed no immediate threat. It did not go unnoticed.

“You clean up well,” Rak added with a brief glance over Rumi’s figure. “Though I admit, I imagined the next time I saw you both, it’d be somewhere a little… warmer.”

The implication hung there, faintly sulphurous.

Rumi’s pulse gave a traitorous jolt beneath her skin, her body recognising something her mind hadn’t yet named. There was a peculiar stillness to Rak’s presence, like standing too close to a predator that had already eaten but might still bite out of boredom.

For all the noise and shimmer of the tribute event around them, this moment felt cut from another plane. Rumi suddenly felt acutely visible, as though Rak’s eyes could peel back layers of her — past her polished exterior and into the quieter places she’d tried to guard.

She felt oddly akin to prey beneath that gaze, not because he threatened her directly, but because he didn’t need to.

“Still tethered,” Rak observed with a glimmer of something behind his eyes. “How have you both been getting on with that, then?”

Rumi blinked. “How do you think? We've been waiting. You were supposed to organise the transport to the demon realm.”

Rak’s laugh was unhurried, deep, and thoroughly entertained. “Oh, Rumi. You say that like it hasn’t been ready this whole time.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

He lifted his glass lazily. “I’ve had it arranged for weeks. But from what I gathered, the two of you seemed quite content to... play house.”

The words landed heavier than they should’ve. Jinu went rigid beside her. Rumi’s face flushed, though whether it was from irritation or something else entirely, she wasn’t sure.

“That’s not—” She swallowed. “You said you’d contact us.”

“I would have,” he said smoothly. “Eventually. But I thought a little bonding time wouldn’t hurt. You’ve been through so much. I figured I’d let the connection deepen. Let you…” he paused, a smirk tugging at his lips, “...settle in.”

Rumi felt heat rise to her ears. “You manipulative snake—”

“Careful,” Rak cut in gently, amused more than offended. “Flattery gets you everywhere.”

Jinu, finally breaking his silence, muttered, “You get off on this, don’t you?”

Rak turned to him, as though delighted to be included. “I enjoy seeing things unfold naturally. I offer opportunity. The choices? Those are always yours.”

Rumi’s jaw clenched. “If we’re ready, now, then say so.”

Rak’s smirk faded into something more unreadable.

“You’ll know when the moment comes,” he said. “But be sure of what you’re walking into, Rumi. The realm remembers who you are, even if you don’t.”

Rumi opened her mouth, just about to ask what Rak meant when—

“Rumi, there you are.” Came a voice, smooth and pointed, slicing clean through the tension like a blade through silk.

Celine.

She appeared as if conjured out of the crowd, dressed in a sleek black number that shimmered when the lights caught it, her gaze landing first on Rumi, then narrowing on Rak like she’d been tracking this exact moment. Her smile was thin.

“Didn’t realise you were entertaining company.” She looked pointedly between the two men, though her eyes lingered on Rak like she was trying to unspool him with a glance.

Rak’s smile stretched, wolfish. “Ah. The siren of the Sunlight Sisters herself.” He offered a slight bow. “You’re just in time.”

Rumi’s pulse fluttered beneath her skin. She didn’t know whether it was the way Celine stepped closer to her, possessive and shielding, or the way Rak’s eyes gleamed like he was watching two predators circle one another while he remained one step above it all.

There was an undercurrent to it.

A current that crackled between Rak and Jinu too, as though something old and territorial buzzed just beneath the surface.

“I didn’t know you and Rumi were… acquainted.” Celine said, her words dipped in something cool.

“We’re old friends,” Rak replied, faux-casual, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve. “I always like to keep tabs on potential.” His eyes slid back to Rumi, deliberate. “Especially the kind that’s wasted under a leash.”

Celine’s jaw tightened. “Rumi isn’t under anything. Huntrix is her legacy, her choice.”

“Oh, I never implied otherwise,” Rak said lightly. “But freedom is such a delicate thing, isn’t it? One moment you’re basking in it, the next, you’re weighed down by expectations dressed up as opportunity.”

Rumi stiffened. She could feel the weight of something pressing in, like the room had subtly shifted in gravitational pull. The energy between Rak and Celine swirled like a barely contained storm. And she, absurdly, felt like prey caught between two apex predators.

Jinu’s quiet presence at her back grounded her slightly, but even he was unusually still.

“You’re wasting your time if you think she’d leave,” Celine said smoothly, looping her arm around Rumi’s like a casual claim. “Rumi has no intention of walking away from what we’ve built. From Huntrix.”

Rak’s eyes glittered, not with offence but amusement, like he loved being underestimated.

“I never said anything about walking,” he said softly, gaze locking onto Rumi’s like a slow hook. “Some leaps are instinctual.”

Celine’s expression didn’t change, but her voice dipped. “Rumi is exactly where she needs to be. She’s not entertaining any offers.”

“Mm.” Rak’s gaze lingered on Rumi a moment longer than polite. “So, she hasn’t told you we’ve met before?”

Celine’s jaw visibly ticked. “I wasn’t aware.”

“Ah, no harm done,” he said smoothly, his tone laced with satisfaction. “It was brief. Fleeting, even. But meaningful.”

Rumi’s skin crawled. Not from fear, but from the unshakable sense that something was unfolding behind the curtain and she had missed the cue.

Her mind scrambled to read between their lines.

Celine was rattled, that much was clear—but why?

Rumi wasn’t sure how much Celine truly knew. Maybe not everything. Maybe just enough. Perhaps she didn’t know Rak wasn’t human, but sensed something wrong all the same. Like blood in the water, something that triggered instinct before reason.

It could have been simple rivalry. The threat of Rak poaching talent, the usual power plays between entertainment empires. Corporate claws and K-pop kingdoms carving up influence. Maybe that was all it was.

But then—why did Celine look at Rak like she wanted to carve out his heart and banish whatever was left?

“I’m sure it was forgettable,” Celine replied coolly, her hand subtly pressing against Rumi’s arm. “Rumi tends to be polite to everyone.”

Rak laughed, low and pleased. “Oh, I wouldn’t say she’s polite. She’s curious. It’s what makes her interesting.” He tilted his head, his voice lowering as he added, “And curiosity often leads people to the places they most fear.”

Celine’s hand stiffened against Rumi’s arm.

There was a flicker of something unreadable in her expression—disdain, perhaps. Or maybe discomfort. She straightened her posture slightly, a move of silent power, like a dancer resetting for the next act.

“Well, curiosity can be dangerous. Especially when it isn’t earned.”

Rak’s smile remained, but there was something sharper in it now. Something cold.

“Is that a warning?” he asked, gently.

“A reminder,” Celine replied, her voice silky with threat.

The air between them prickled. Rumi could feel it, like heat before a cyclone, a static charge building just beneath the surface. She wasn’t sure who would strike first if given the chance.

Rak’s smile curled like smoke.

“Well,” he said, adjusting the lapel of his blazer with an elegant flick, “as entertaining as this little reunion is, I’m needed elsewhere.”

His voice rolled smooth as silk, but something sharp gleamed beneath it—an edge honed not in boardrooms, but in far older arenas.

He stepped closer to Rumi, his presence casting a quiet hush over the space between them. His gaze, however brief, flicked past her and toward Jinu. It was subtle. Deliberate. A silent acknowledgment that bypassed everyone else.

“It truly was wonderful to see the two of you again,” he said, the statement layered with intent.

To anyone else, especially Celine, it might have sounded like a gracious nod to old friends. But the glance said otherwise. The “two” in question wasn’t Rumi and Celine.

“And Rumi,” he added, his voice dipped low, almost fond, “if you ever need anything... you know where to find me.” He offered her a small black business card between two fingers, as thin and dark as obsidian. “That thing we discussed... It’s in your hands now.”

With that, he turned on his heel, the crowd parting instinctively as he passed, like reeds in a storm's wake.

Rumi watched him disappear into the moving swell of the venue, something cold and electric still coiling in her chest. It felt like a current had been broken.

Celine’s voice cut the silence.

“How do you know him?” she asked, eyes narrowed in that signature way; half-curious, half-condemning.

Rumi blinked, then shrugged lightly. “Met him at an event years ago. One of those vague industry galas. I guess I left an impression.”

Rumi was almost startled by how smoothly the lie flowed off her tongue, like it had been waiting there all along.

Celine scoffed. “Men like that always remember pretty things who don’t immediately fall at their feet.”

Rumi tilted her head. “What do you mean, men like that?”

Celine’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Powerful. Charming. They collect people the way others collect wine. And when the bottle’s empty... they discard it.”

It was a dodge. An evasive metaphor. Rumi could feel it.

“Is that all?” she asked, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Because I’ve never seen you look at someone like you wanted to carve out their heart and salt the earth beneath it.”

Celine smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Just... stay away from him, Rumi. You don't want to get involved with men like that. They’re always after something. And they never give anything for free.”

But even as she said it, Rumi couldn’t tell whether Celine was trying to protect her, or protect something else.

Celine’s gaze flicked toward someone behind Rumi’s shoulder. A sharp click of heels. A voice—female, assertive—called her name. Celine turned, her expression sharpening with professional coolness, but not before her eyes landed on the business card still clutched between Rumi’s fingers.

Her mouth curled, not a smile, not quite.

“Throw that away,” she said. It came out like an afterthought, but her voice was razor-edged. “Trust me.”

And then she was gone, stalking off in the opposite direction with the grace of someone used to being followed. No further explanation. No second glance.

The crowd absorbed her as if she’d never been there.

Rumi stared after her for a moment, unsure if she was holding her breath until Jinu’s voice broke the silence beside her.

“Well…” he said, blinking. “That seemed totally normal.”

Rumi huffed, a sound half-laugh, half-exhale. “Yeah.”

“She looked at him like she wanted to gut him,” Jinu added. His voice dropped a little. “Do you think she knows what he is?”

Rumi didn’t answer right away. The tension that had coiled in her chest since Celine first walked up hadn’t faded, just shifted. She glanced down at the business card. Rak Jae-Seon. The gold foil shimmered faintly under the lights.

“It’s hard to tell,” she murmured, fingers tightening slightly. “Maybe she just sensed something. You don’t always need to know what you’re looking at to know it’s dangerous.”

Jinu nodded slowly, his eyes distant. “She wouldn’t be the first somewhat sense it. But she reacted like it was personal.”

Rumi let out a breath through her nose and looked around. “I need some air.”

Without waiting, she turned and slipped through the fringe of partygoers, past a pair of waitstaff carrying empty champagne flutes, until she found a side hallway. It led to an outdoor terrace; a narrow balcony lined with low glass barriers and strung with soft golden lights.

Cool air wrapped around her as she stepped out. The sound of conversation and music dulled behind the heavy doors. She leaned on the railing, staring out over the cityscape, eyes catching on the distant flicker of traffic below.

Jinu joined her, folding his arms. “So, theory time,” he said lightly, watching the skyline. “What was that really about? Just corporate rivalry, or something more?”

Rumi didn’t answer at first. Her fingers fiddled with the edge of the card.

“If it was just some petty industry thing,” Rumi muttered, “then why was she looking at him like she wanted to rip the truth right out of his skin?”

Jinu whistled low. “That specific, huh?”

“She was furious. Controlled. But…” Rumi frowned. “There was more there.”

Jinu leaned on the railing beside her. “You think she’s crossed paths with him before?”

“Maybe.” She turned the card over, absently. “Or maybe she’s just smart.”

Something caught her attention. On the back of the card, faintly embossed, was a line of handwriting in black ink, so fine it was almost invisible in the low light.

She tilted it, angling it toward one of the terrace lanterns.

Han River Bridge. 11:00 PM.

Next to the location and time, a small date was penned, almost like an afterthought.

Her stomach dropped slightly, a dull, sinking weight she couldn’t ignore. The handwritten words on the back of the card felt like a thread pulling her toward something vast and irreversible. The neat lettering was almost too elegant, too calm, for what it signified.

Jinu’s gaze swept over her shoulder, catching the same message.

“That’s in… exactly one week.” He murmured, his voice quiet but certain.

Rumi looked up at him, and their eyes locked. The night air around them was cool, but the space between them felt unnervingly still, like the world had briefly stopped to let the moment settle.

Her fingers tightened around the card.

“That’s when we’re going,” she said softly, the truth unfurling on her tongue. “That’s when we’re going to the demon realm.”

The words hung there, heavy and final. A quiet chill moved through her chest—not fear, exactly, but the sensation of standing on the edge of something deep and unknowable. Her pulse thudded in her ears. No matter how she tried to prepare herself, there was no pretending this wasn’t real anymore. The countdown had started.

And there was no turning back.

Chapter Text

The elevator doors clicked shut behind her, the muffled sounds of the city cut away as Rumi stepped into the quiet of her apartment. The stillness felt almost unnatural after the constant hum of the gala, the voices and the lights still lingering faintly in her mind.

She let out a breath, shrugging off the weight of her coat. Jinu followed in behind her, his presence steady, like always.

“Well,” Rumi muttered as she leaned against the wall to tug off her heels, dropping them unceremoniously near the door. The relief was immediate. “That was… a lot. I don’t even know where to start with all of that.”

Jinu’s mouth quirked slightly. “Rak has a way of making sure he’s unforgettable.”

Rumi scoffed under her breath, curling her toes against the floor before padding further inside. “Unforgettable and impossible. I can’t believe we’re supposed to just… wait an entire week now. Feels like sitting on a ticking clock.”

“That’s what we’ll do,” Jinu said, calm as ever. “We’ll wait, and we’ll prepare. That’s all we can do.”

She turned her head to glance at him, catching the faint crease in his brow. “You sound too steady about this.”

“Someone has to,” he replied, his voice dry but gentle.

Rumi laughed softly, pushing her hair back as she walked further inside. “Yeah, well—honestly, I just want to put on that ridiculous historical drama and zone out for a while. Pretend we’re not dealing with billionaires and demon realms.” Her tone was wistful, almost teasing. “I mean, I could use some over-the-top palace intrigue that isn’t my life for once.”

She moved toward the living room, already imagining the comfort of curling up on the couch, but stopped mid-step when she noticed the change in Jinu. His body had gone still, his gaze sharp and unfocused like he was listening to something beyond the walls.

Rumi’s chest tightened.

“What is it?” she asked carefully, her voice lowering.

Jinu didn’t answer right away. The silence pressed in, thick and unsettling. His jaw tensed, his eyes flicking toward the living room.

Rumi’s pulse picked up. She could feel it in him—his edges, sharpened and alert, humming like a taut string ready to snap.

“Jinu?” she tried again, stepping closer.

He shifted slightly, positioning himself a half-step ahead of her. His voice was barely more than a whisper.

“We’re not alone.”

Rumi’s stomach dropped. Her throat tightened as she forced out, “Is it… a demon?”

Jinu’s eyes narrowed, his tone low and unreadable. “I don’t know. But their energy isn’t fully human.”

“Great,” Rumi muttered under her breath, summoning her weapon into her hand with a sharp flick of thought. The familiar weight steadied her, though her pulse was hammering in her ears. “Literally not even one night off.”

Jinu’s gaze stayed fixed ahead, his shoulders squared in silent agreement.

Rumi exhaled slowly, moving forward with quiet, measured steps. Each one echoed in her chest louder than it did against the floor. She gripped her weapon tightly, slipping into the living room with her body poised to strike—

Only to freeze.

Someone was already there, sitting calmly on the couch as though she owned the place. Which, in a way, she almost did.

Rumi blinked, her stomach flipping in a way that wasn’t entirely relief.

“Mira?”

Low and behold, there she was, in the flesh, perched on the couch like she’d never left.

Every line of her body spoke of effortless poise, the subtle tilt of her head and the graceful set of her shoulders giving the impression that the room had bent itself around her.

Yet even in that seemingly flawless composure, Rumi noticed the tension coiled just beneath the surface; the slight stiffness in her spine, the way her fingers flexed restlessly in her lap, the ever-so-slight rise of her shoulders betraying a watchfulness that her calm exterior tried to mask. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked between Rumi and the empty space beside her, carrying a quiet wariness that hinted she was never completely at ease, no matter how serene she appeared.

Mira’s eyes immediately caught on the blade in Rumi’s hand. Her gaze sharpened, narrowing with something close to accusation and narrowing with quiet suspicion.

“...Who were you talking to just now?”

Rumi’s throat closed, words tripping over themselves. “I—I wasn’t… no one.”

Behind her shoulder, Jinu shook his head slowly, lips tugging into a sharp smirk.

“Good one,” he murmured, smug.

Rumi shot him a glare that could have cut glass before snapping her attention back to Mira, forcing a weak laugh.

“I mean… I talk to myself, sometimes. Kind of a habit I’ve picked up after spending so much time alone.”

Jinu arched a brow, clearly amused. “Nice save.”

Mira studied her, dark eyes lingering on her face with an assessing weight, as if she were trying to peel back the edges of Rumi’s words. For a long, quiet moment, Rumi felt the weight of that gaze, her stomach twisting under it.

Finally, Mira’s eyes flicked toward the sword shimmering in Rumi’s palm.

“Why do you have that drawn?”

Rumi froze under the look, the weapon’s familiar weight suddenly heavier. Mira’s stare pressed into her, sharp enough to make her feel like the one out of place. Slowly, Rumi eased the blade down but didn’t dismiss it completely.

“I sensed something,” she said, her voice low, almost defensive.

Her eyes flicked over Mira again, trying to read the subtle tension in her posture, the faint exhaustion clinging beneath her expression.

“Wasn’t sure what it was. Better to be safe than sorry.” She hesitated before adding, “What are you doing here? Is everything okay with your dad?”

A long breath escaped Mira, part sigh, part surrender. Her shoulders sagged, and when her eyes lifted back to Rumi’s, they carried less sharpness and more fatigue.

“Celine asked if I wanted to come up, said it would be a nice surprise for you.” A humourless laugh slipped through, brief and brittle. “Guess it worked.”

The name cracked against Rumi like glass splintering underfoot. She kept her face steady, but inside, irritation sparked hot in her chest. Jinu stirred faintly at the edges of her awareness, echoing her reaction like a steadying hand on her shoulder.

Mira looked away, thumb worrying at the hem of her sleeve, then back at Rumi with eyes that had lost their earlier edge.

“And… I needed a break from my parents.” Her voice softened, heavy with the weight she always carried when the subject came up. “My dad’s condition hasn’t changed. Things are improving, sure, but…” She exhaled again, her gaze dipping, shadows deepening in her expression. “We had another fight. The same fight we always have. Just louder this time.”

Rumi’s grip tightened slightly on the hilt before she let it go, the blade vanishing in a blink of silvery light. Her chest eased just a fraction, though her shoulders were still drawn tight.

“I’m so sorry, Mira,” she said softly, guilt tugging at her words.

Mira gave a small, tired shrug. “It’s fine. Really. I just… needed a bit of a break before I go back.”

Rumi hesitated, studying her face—the faint puff beneath Mira’s eyes, the way her gaze wandered as if too heavy to hold steady.

“Do you know when you’ll go back?”

That earned the faintest curl of a smirk. “Why? Are you trying to get rid of me already?”

Before Rumi could form an answer, Jinu’s low voice slipped out, rich with amusement.

“Should I tell her yes?”

Her eyes darted to him, wide in warning, even though Mira couldn’t hear a word. Heat rushed to her cheeks, not only from embarrassment but from the sting of truth beneath his joke. Because the thought had been there, unspoken, crouching in the corners of her chest.

And with that came the guilt—sharp, immediate.

This was Mira’s home just as much as hers. Mira had every right to be here, to sit on that couch, to breathe in this space.

Yet Rumi couldn’t help the selfish curl of longing inside her for the fragile bubble she and Jinu had built, the quiet cadence of days stitched together by their own rhythm. Nights filled with his steady presence, the subtle comfort of him anchoring her.

Now, Mira’s return cracked at that delicate rhythm, scattering it like glass underfoot. The guilt sat hot and heavy in her stomach, twisting tighter with every beat of silence. But threaded through it was something else, softer and sadder—a mourning for what she feared she might lose.

That fragile tether between her and Jinu, so carefully formed in the stillness of these weeks, now felt as if it might fray.

She forced herself to swallow it down, pushing the emotions back behind a small, fragile smile as she turned her eyes to Mira again.

Rumi forced a breath past the knot in her throat and shook her head quickly.

“Of course not,” she said, her smile faint but steady. “I’m just going to go change into something comfier.”

Mira gave her a small nod, sinking further into the couch. “Alright. But when you’re done, I want to hear all about the gala.”

“Yeah… sure,” Rumi murmured, already turning toward the hallway.

She felt Jinu’s presence fall into step behind her, the soft press of his energy at her back as she retreated to the quiet of her room.

The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the hum of the TV. Jinu leaned against the frame, arms folding, his lips tugged into the faintest grin.

“I suppose that means no historical dramas for us tonight,” he said, voice low, teasing.

Rumi shot him a look over her shoulder as she reached for the hem of her dress, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her with a twitch.

“So… what are we going to do?” she asked, voice soft but edged with worry.

Jinu raised an eyebrow, lounging against the doorway with that familiar, teasing tilt to his head. “What are you on about?”

Rumi exhaled, frustrated. “With Mira here, it’s going to be hard to keep things going the way they have. All our little routines, our… time alone. It’s going to be different now.”

A slow, crooked smile spread across Jinu’s face. “Different, huh? Or are you worried about missing the thrill of sneaking around with me again?”

Rumi shot him a glare, but the corners of her lips twitched anyway. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” Jinu said, voice low, eyes glinting with amusement. He stepped a little closer, letting the teasing linger just long enough to make her pulse hitch. “Come on, you can’t lie to me, Rumi. You love this little game we have.”

She shook her head, exhaling in a mixture of exasperation and something warmer, something that made her chest tighten.

“I don’t know if I want it to change, that’s all. It’s… been nice.”

Jinu’s lips parted as if to say something, the beginnings of a smirk already teasing at the corner of his mouth, the familiar lift of his brow promising some witty, infuriating remark.

But Rumi cut him off, her voice sharper than intended, though not unkind. “I don’t want to hear another smirky comment out of your mouth.”

Even as she spoke, the tether between them hummed, vibrant and alive. She could feel it in her chest, a subtle warmth that ran along her spine and into her fingertips, the pull of him pressing gently against her awareness.

There was his smugness, the teasing amusement he radiated, and that slow, teasing desire to draw a reaction from her—all before he had even spoken. It was like the air around them shimmered with his energy, playful and intimate, and Rumi felt herself responding instinctively, a quiet laugh bubbling just behind her lips.

Jinu’s smirk softened, though she could still feel the lingering teasing wrapped in his presence. The warmth of it pressed against her like sunlight on a cool morning, grounding her even as it made her pulse flutter.

“Fine,” he murmured, a note of playful surrender threading through his voice. “No smirks. Just… honesty.”

Rumi’s chest loosened slightly, the warmth of the tether wrapping around her heart, a quiet reassurance that this—this connection, this fragile little bubble—was still theirs, even with the world pressing in from all sides.

Jinu’s grin softened, replaced by something steadier, earnest.

“Then why not make it easier?” he asked, tilting his head as a thought struck him. “Why not just tell Mira what’s going on?”

Rumi blinked, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness behind his words. She opened her mouth, hesitant, unsure if she wanted to pull that thread. But the glimmer of possibility in Jinu’s eyes, the promise that maybe the delicate balance they’d built wouldn’t have to vanish entirely… made her heart thrum with something like cautious hope.

“It’s a terrible idea.” The words slipped from Rumi’s lips before she could stop herself, sharper than she meant.

Her hands twisted together in her lap as she sat on the corner of the bed, fingers worrying at her nails like she could peel away the unease clawing at her chest.

Jinu blinked at her, not defensive, not offended—just steady. “I don’t get what the issue is.”

Her laugh came out brittle. “The issue? Mira hates demons.”

He tilted his head, calm as ever, voice soft but unyielding. “She can’t hate all demons. Look at you. She’s not afraid of you anymore, is she?”

Rumi bit down on her lip, hard. The truth of it stung because he was right, but the fear inside her was louder than reason.

Mira might accept me, she thought, but Jinu—Jinu is different. He’s everything they’d want to take from me if they knew.

Her throat tightened.

“I’m scared,” she admitted finally, barely above a whisper. “If I tell her, if it slips out to anyone else… what if somehow, you get taken from me again?”

The thought burned in her chest, a wildfire of panic she couldn’t stamp out. She had lost him once. The tether between them had been an agonising wound, raw and gaping, and she wasn’t sure she could survive that emptiness a second time.

Jinu’s gaze softened immediately, his eyes catching the dim light as if holding it for her. He moved closer, slow and deliberate, crouching down in front of her. The tether stirred between them, humming with tender electricity—sweet, comforting, like a warm current flowing into her chest and easing the sharp edges of her fear.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, every word a promise. “Not now. Not ever. There’s nothing that could rip me apart from you. Not Mira, not Celine, not anyone, okay?”

Rumi’s breath caught. The certainty in his voice pressed against her fear, not crushing it, but holding it still for the first time. Her heart ached with the weight of wanting to believe him, of needing to.

She blinked up at him, voice trembling. “How did you even know that’s what I was worried about? About Mira telling Celine?”

Jinu’s lips curved in the faintest smile. He lifted two fingers and tapped them gently over his chest, just above his heart, before leaning closer and almost pressing the same touch against hers.

“Right here,” he murmured. “I feel everything you feel, remember?”

The tether throbbed at the contact, tender and electric, sweet and grounding all at once. The terror inside her loosened its grip, not gone, but softened by his steady presence.

For the first time since Celine’s words had reopened old wounds, Rumi remembered that she wasn’t standing alone at the edge of a cliff. Jinu’s presence wrapped around her, anchoring her, whispering without words: you’re safe.

Rumi nodded slowly, exhaling through her nose in a huff, as if trying to dispel the sudden rush of warmth that had settled in her chest.

“When did you get so… compassionate and understanding?” she asked, voice half-laughing, half-breathless.

Jinu shrugged, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I suppose I’ve picked up a thing or two from being around you so much.”

His voice was light, teasing, but under that levity there was a steady pulse of warmth, a quiet constancy that pressed against her in the most intimate, unspoken way.

The space between them seemed to hum, each second stretching out, laden with an electricity that was almost tangible. The air felt thick with unspoken possibilities, the tether connecting them thrumming softly, tenderly, like a heartbeat she could feel in her own chest. Her pulse caught at every subtle shift of his energy, at the low warmth that radiated from him like sunlight pooling in shadowed corners.

A deep, aching longing unfurled inside her, curling tight around her ribs.

She imagined leaning forward, letting her hands trace the lines of his face, fingers threading through the silky sweep of his hair, the subtle warmth of his skin beneath her touch. She imagined the press of their lips, tentative at first, then certain, as if the tether itself were guiding them together. Her chest constricted with both desire and fear; the desire to be close to him, and the fear of what that closeness might mean.

And then the intensity of it struck her like a physical force. She felt her thoughts stumble backward, heart hammering, mind awhirl.

Does he feel this too?

The tether pulsed, thrumming like a living thing, and she couldn’t tell where her feelings ended and his began. Each beat, each flicker of his presence, seemed to echo her own longing back at her, magnified, shimmering with unspoken knowledge.

Her hands tightened into fists in her lap, fingers aching to reach for him even as a knot of panic coiled in her stomach.

Maybe… maybe some of this is his too, she admitted to herself, and the thought both thrilled and terrified her.

The electricity in the tether thrummed higher, sweeter, as if affirming that, yes, part of it was. But even that revelation couldn’t entirely soothe the storm of uncertainty twisting through her.

Shaking herself, forcing her thoughts into focus, she drew a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly.

“I… I’ll tell Mira,” she said, her voice firmer now, cutting through the surge of emotion that had left her trembling.

The words felt like an anchor dropped into roiling water, steadying her even as her pulse continued to race.

Jinu’s lips curved into a soft, approving smile, and though he said nothing more, the warmth of his presence wrapped around her like sunlight and velvet combined.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Rumi shifted awkwardly on the edge of her bed, “I… I should probably get changed. And shower,” she said, her voice hesitant, betraying just how conscious she still felt of the lingering tension in the room.

Jinu, with that signature mischievous tilt to his head, let a slow, teasing grin curl over his lips.

“Need help? Or company?” he drawled, letting the words hang in the air like honeyed smoke.

Rumi’s cheeks warmed. Part of her immediately recognised the performance—the exaggerated flirtation, the teasing lilt of his voice, the way his gaze lingered just long enough. It was his way of easing the tension between them, of making the air lighter, and she was quietly thankful for it, even as her stomach fluttered.

“Of course not,” she replied, a soft exhale betraying her half-smile, “but thanks for the offer.”

Jinu shrugged, a mock look of wounded disappointment crossing his features.

“Worth a shot,” he murmured, the sparkle in his eyes warm and tender, a silent promise threading through the tether that connected them.

With a small nod, Rumi rose and stepped into the ensuite and shed her dress, the cool tiles grounding her as she ran a hand along the counter.

She let the warm spray of the shower wash over her, the water tumbling over her skin in steady, soothing rhythm, carrying away the remnants of unease from the evening. By the time she stepped out, wrapped in a soft towel and breathing in the steam-laden air, she felt lighter.

She pulled on a pair of ridiculous, oversized pyjamas; soft grey cotton bottoms patterned with panda bears riding bicycles, paired with a simple, oversized white tee and tied her hair loosely back.

Re-entering the bedroom, she froze for a moment at the sight of Jinu sprawled across her bed, lounging as though it were his personal throne.

“You’re ridiculously comfortable,” she said with a soft laugh.

Jinu propped himself on one elbow, mock horror in his expression. “And you—your pyjama game? Outrageously criminal. Should be illegal to own so many ridiculous designs.”

Rumi giggled, tugging at the drawstring of her panda-bicycle bottoms. “They’re cute, okay?”

“They’re chaotic, adorable, and somehow perfectly you,” he said, smirking, voice low. “I approve, but the world might not survive the visual impact.”

Rumi shook her head, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the room, and took a deep, steadying breath. She walked toward her door, and Jinu’s followed her, his presence soft but firm.

“I’ll be here through it all,” he murmured comfortingly.

The tether hummed with reassurance, tender and electric, wrapping around her like a protective embrace as she nodded, before opening her door and headed back to the living room.

“Mira,” Rumi called out, her voice carrying across the space, steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest. “We need to talk. I… I need to tell you something.”

There was a pause, heavy and charged, before Mira’s voice returned, tense and clipped.

“Yes. We definitely need to talk.”

Rumi stepped cautiously into the living room, frowning. Mira’s voice had sounded tense over the short distance from the hall, clipped and slightly sharp, and it left Rumi uneasy. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but then her eyes fell on the source of the tension—and her stomach twisted in surprise.

Tiger and Crow were there.

Lounging casually across the space as if they had been there the entire time, yet she was certain they hadn’t been. Tiger sat directly in front of Mira, tail wagging in earnest, eyes sparkling with expectation, clearly begging for attention. Crow perched elegantly on the back of the sofa, head tilted, gaze sharp and calculating, every inch as poised as its usual self.

Mira’s reaction was clear; shoulders stiff, brow furrowed, and her usual composure cracked just slightly. She glanced from Tiger to Crow and back at Rumi, a look of equal parts confusion, mild annoyance, and helpless resignation on her face.

Jinu, hovering just behind Rumi, let out a long, low sigh, the sound just audible enough to make her glance at him. His expression was a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

“Yikes,” he muttered, voice dripping with dry humour. “This is going to be… interesting.”

Mira didn’t acknowledge them directly, but her shoulders remained rigid, her glare sharpening. “You clearly have some explaining to do.”

Rumi couldn’t help but swallow hard, her gaze darting between Mira’s flustered confusion and the nonchalant, almost smug expressions of Tiger and Crow. The room felt suddenly alive in a way she hadn’t anticipated, the tension between them and Mira charged with new, unpredictable energy.

And in the back of her mind, the sudden, silent presence of Tiger and Crow whispered that nothing in this night would unfold as simply as she hoped.

Chapter Text

“So, let me get this straight,” Mira began, her tone calm but edged with disbelief, each word precise.

She shifted in the armchair, crossing her legs with a deliberate grace, though her shoulders remained tight. She rested her elbow on the armrest, chin in hand, eyes fixed sharply on Rumi, who sat curled on the couch opposite her. The lamp between them cast the room in a warm glow, softening the edges, but the tension strung taut between them left no room for comfort.

“We fought Gwi Ma, and when it came down to it, Jinu sacrificed himself for you.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “Except instead of just… being gone, the two of you ended up tethered together. Your souls bound together by some freaky, weird demon magic.”

Rumi squirmed against the cushions, her fingers curling into the fabric.

The lamp hummed faintly, the shadows swaying against the wall as the three of them sat suspended in the weight of everything laid bare. Rumi’s chest ached with the heaviness of it, the tether pressing warm and steady against her heart, Jinu’s presence anchoring her while Mira’s scrutiny pinned her in place.

“It sounds ridiculous when you say it like that,” she muttered.

“Because it is ridiculous,” Mira countered, sitting forward slightly. “And now you can see him. Because for a while, he was—what—stuck in your sword?”

“Inside the sword,” Jinu corrected from his place leaning casually against the arm of the couch. His arms were folded, his smirk infuriatingly intact. “Like a cramped shoebox apartment, only in the void.”

Rumi pressed her lips together to smother a laugh.

Mira’s eyes flicked to her, narrowing. “Did he just say something?”

“Uh—yeah. He just said it wasn’t fun.” Rumi replied as she coughed into her hand.

“That’s not at all what I said,” Jinu smirked, as Rumi glared at him before Mira could notice.

Mira exhaled through her nose, then carried on, ticking each point off like a list.

“And now, because of this bond, you and he have… strange new abilities. Abilities you don’t completely understand yet. Which also means the two of you need to travel to the demon realm to get his body back.”

Rumi’s fingers twisted into the couch cushion. “Yeah. With Rak’s help.”

Mira’s eyes hardened at the name. “Right, Rak Jae-Seon. Who, it turns out, isn’t just some untouchable billionaire, but an ancient demon who’s been living in the human realm for centuries without anyone knowing.”

Jinu, lounging like he didn’t have a care in the world, hummed low. “That’s not true. I’m pretty sure he somehow knows Celine.”

Rumi’s head snapped toward him before she could stop herself, eyes widening in shock.

“What?” she blurted, louder than she meant.

“Don’t act surprised, Princess. You’re the one who vaguely suggested that at the Legacy event.”

Mira’s brows rose instantly, sharp eyes narrowing as she leaned forward in her armchair. “What what? Did he just say something again?”

Rumi floundered for a moment, mouth opening and closing, before she waved a hand too quickly.

“Nothing. It’s—he just… made a comment.” Her cheeks burned, and she busied herself fiddling with the hem of her pyjama sleeve, trying to look casual.

Jinu smirked, clearly enjoying her discomfort, his tether humming with smug amusement that pressed right into her chest.

Mira’s brows lifted higher. “So, he’s really just… chiming in like this? Constantly?”

“You have no idea,” Rumi muttered under her breath, before sighing. “Please, just… go on.”

Mira pinched the bridge of her nose.

“So, on top of all this, there’s been an uptick in demon activity. Strangers being sent after you, trying to drag you off to… whoever is pulling the strings. Which means there’s a bigger player we don’t know about yet.” She sat back, her tone cool but her eyes flickering with concern. “And to complicate it further, Celine and Rak clearly know each other better than either of them will admit. Beyond the usual industry rivalries.”

Jinu let out a low whistle, leaning against the arm of the couch.

“Sharp. She picked up on that quick.” His eyes flicked toward Mira with something like admiration. “Girl’s got instincts.”

Rumi glanced at him reflexively, a faint twitch of her lips betraying her.

Mira blinked. “Let me guess—another one-liner?”

Rumi hesitated, then shook her head. “Not a one-liner this time. Just… a compliment. To you. To your intellect.”

That gave Mira pause. Her eyes softened, surprise flickering across her features before she smoothed them over with composure again. She tilted her head, a faint curve at the corner of her mouth.

“Well. At least he has taste.” She murmured, but her voice had lost some of its edge. “Still weird though.”

Jinu smirked, and Rumi’s stomach fluttered as the tether hummed with his amusement. Mira exhaled slowly, letting the moment pass before her voice settled back into its steady cadence.

“Anyway—” she continued, drawing them back into the heart of the conversation, “that’s where we stand. Tethered souls, a demon billionaire, and an enemy we can’t yet name.”

“That’s the gist of it.” Rumi exhaled, flinging herself back against the pillows behind her.

The silence hung for a few beats, Mira’s gaze steady on Rumi, until she finally spoke again.

“So… are you really going to do it? Go to the demon realm?”

Rumi straightened on the couch, her hands tightening in her lap.

“Yes. I have to.” Her voice was quiet but sure. “Not just for Jinu… but for me. For my parents. I can’t shake the feeling that so much has been withheld from me, and if I don’t find out now… I never will.”

Mira’s expression softened, though a crease lingered between her brows. “Then you’re not doing it alone. Zoey and I—we’ll come with you. We’ll call her, get her back from the States. Together, we can face this.”

For a fleeting moment, warmth flickered in Rumi’s chest at the thought of her friends rallying behind her. But she shook her head.

“No. This is something I have to do alone.”

“Not alone,” Jinu corrected gently, his voice firm as he leaned in closer. “You’ll never be alone in this.”

Rumi’s eyes lifted to his, and for a long, charged moment, the two of them held each other’s gaze. The tether pulsed warmly, a quiet intimacy stretching between them like the glow of a flame shielded from the wind.

Mira shifted in her armchair, her eyes flicking between Rumi and the space she gauged where Jinu was, lips pressing into a thin line.

“Okay,” she said abruptly. “Can he… go away somewhere?”

Rumi blinked, startled. “He can go a fair distance from me, yeah… but why?”

“Because,” Mira replied crisply, “I want some girl talk. Without your shadow looming in the corner.”

Rumi opened her mouth to protest, heat rising in her cheeks, but Jinu lifted his hands in mock surrender.

“It’s fine. I’ll give you two your girl time.” His smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth as he pushed off the couch.

He turned toward Tiger and Crow, lounging as though they had claimed the living room as their own.

“Alright, you two. Walk time.”

Tiger perked up immediately, tail thumping against the rug, while Crow gave an unimpressed caw but hopped down from the back of the couch all the same.

Rumi watched Jinu herd them toward the door, the affection in her gaze betraying her as much as the tug of the tether in her chest. She swallowed, willing her expression back to neutral before Mira could press her on it. But the warmth lingered, humming quietly, long after he stepped out of sight.

It was a shame, really, that Mira always saw everything.

Nothing ever seemed to slip past her, not even the things Rumi tried so hard to bury behind casual words and controlled expressions.

“So,” Mira said, leaning back in the armchair, arms folding across her chest. Her tone was deceptively light, but her eyes were razor-sharp. “What’s the deal with you and Jinu?”

Rumi blinked, feigning confusion, though her heart gave an uncomfortable kick in her chest. “What do you mean?”

Mira’s gaze narrowed further, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Rumi. Be serious.” She leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees, voice lowering but gaining weight. “It’s so clear something is going on between the two of you. I can practically cut the tension with a knife, and that’s despite the fact I can’t even see him.”

The words landed heavily, Mira’s unflinching stare pinning her in place. Rumi shifted uneasily against the couch cushions, trying to school her face into something neutral, but the warmth of the tether pulsed in her chest like it wanted to give her away.

Rumi’s shoulders sagged, the fight slipping out of her. She stared down at her hands, twisting the fabric of her pyjama pants between her fingers.

“I’m… not sure what we are at this point,” she admitted quietly.

Mira studied her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a reluctant sigh, she said, “Whatever you are, loathe as I am to admit it, it’s clearly good for you.”

Rumi’s head snapped up, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Mira deadpanned her, unflinching. “It’s obvious. You’re better. There’s light in you again. Zoey and I… we could tell you were struggling. But we didn’t know how to help.” Her voice dropped lower, tinged with something that almost sounded like guilt. “We had our own shit to deal with, and it felt like… maybe you’d figure it out on your own. But maybe we should’ve been there for you, instead of disappearing into our own problems.”

Rumi shook her head firmly, almost cutting her off. “That’s ridiculous. You both did have your own things to work on. It wasn’t your job to carry me through mine.”

Mira’s lips pressed into a thin line, but her eyes softened, something raw flickering there.

“Doesn’t matter. He’s helped you. Jinu’s brought back the light in your eyes. And while I don’t have the best feelings about him—” her mouth tugged wryly “—I’m at least thankful for that much.”

Rumi felt the tether hum at that, Jinu’s warmth pressing into her chest like a quiet embrace, despite the distance between them. She glanced away quickly, but the flicker of affection in her gaze was unmistakable, and Mira didn’t miss it.

Mira tilted her head slightly, watching her. “It’s the way you look at him, you know.”

Rumi’s head jerked up, caught off guard. “The way I… look at him?”

“Like he’s more than just a ghost trailing after you,” Mira said plainly, her voice steady but her gaze sharp. “Like he’s someone you’d fight the whole damn world for.”

Rumi’s breath caught, the tether pulsing so strongly she almost winced, Jinu’s presence flaring in her chest with a warmth that was equal parts comfort and ache.

Mira gave a small huff, settling back against the armchair with arms folded. “I suppose he basically did the same for you, didn’t he? Sacrificing himself and all.”

Rumi blinked, caught off guard by the admission.

Then Mira slouched dramatically against the armrest, throwing her head back with an exaggerated sigh. “Ugh. Why can’t I get a tragically dramatic star-crossed love story? It’s wasted on you.”

Rumi laughed, the sound bursting out before she could stop it. “Trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Mm, sure,” Mira drawled, cracking one eye open at her. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Rumi tossed a cushion at her, and Mira let it bounce off her arm with a smirk. The heaviness of the conversation lightened for a moment, slipping into the easy rhythm of banter that had always been their anchor.

They traded a few more teasing jabs, Mira lamenting her lack of ‘forbidden romance’ material, Rumi rolling her eyes until they ached, before the laughter softened, and silence curled back into the room.

Mira sat up straighter, fixing Rumi with a steady look. “So. What are you gonna do?”

Rumi exhaled, her gaze drifting toward the window. The city lights blinked faintly in the distance, sharp and alive.

“We’ve got a week until we leave for the demon realm. So… maybe there’s a few more mortal field trips we can make before then.”

Mira blinked, then arched a brow. “I don’t even want to know.”

Rumi’s cheeks warmed instantly, and she ducked her head, biting back a smile. The living room felt quieter now, the kind of hush that came after laughter faded, leaving only the hum of the lamp and the faint creak of the building settling around them.

Outside, the city lights bled through the curtains, flickering like distant stars, but in here it was all narrowed down to the warm glow, the couch beneath her, and the steady presence of Mira across the room. The shift in air was subtle but certain, like a curtain dropping between playfulness and back to something heavier.

Mira’s eyes flicked toward her, steady and firm. “You know… it’s probably a bad idea, but you should tell Celine what’s happening.”

Rumi didn’t even bother to argue. The protest that usually leapt to her tongue wasn’t there this time, and she knew why.

“It doesn’t have to be asking for permission,” Mira continued, her tone measured, almost clinical. “But Celine clearly knows more than she’s letting on. Getting that information out of her before you go charging into the fiery unknown of the demon realm? That might give you the advantage you need. Even if you do have Jinu with you.”

The words sank deep, settling in her chest.

Mira was right. Rumi hated admitting it, but every syllable struck true.

Celine had always known more. Always had that glimmer of something withheld in her eyes, always dodged with sharp remarks or half-answers. Rumi had spent so long allowing it—letting her walls snap up whenever she got too close, letting Celine divert, distract, dismiss. For years, she’d convinced herself it was easier to leave the questions unanswered than to risk what it might feel like to be stonewalled again.

But the anxiety gnawed at her, twisting low in her stomach, reminding her that every step forward without the truth was a step into shadows. It was suffocating, this not-knowing. And yet, beneath the fear, another feeling stirred; a flicker of resolve she hadn’t felt before.

This time would be different.

This time, she wasn’t going to let herself retreat behind walls of her own making. She wasn’t going to let Celine’s disarming smiles or clever evasions steer the conversation into dead ends. She wasn’t going to allow herself to be dismissed like a child tugging at the hem of an adult’s sleeve.

This time, she was going to get answers. About her parents. About whom they were, and why their lives had left such scars on hers. She could feel it rising in her chest, tightening like a knot of fire.

She wouldn’t be taking no for an answer.