Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sky over the city was a sheet of bruised gray, the kind that made it hard to tell if it was morning or dusk. Thunder rolled far away, not quite a warning, but close. Rumi didn’t flinch. She never did. She stood at the edge of the rooftop, hair swept back by the wind, gaze locked on the street below.

The world bustled on, oblivious. Cars, people, music from open shops. And right there in the middle of it — a restaurant glowing warm and ordinary — were the monsters.

“Five of them,” Zoey muttered, crouched beside her. Her twin blades gleamed faintly, as if already tasting the coming ash. “They’re just sitting there. Ordering food. Laughing.”

“Gross,” Mira said, twirling her spear like she was impatient. “I hate when they smile like that. Like they’re normal.”
That was one thing these demons were good at. Playing pretend just enough to attack on innocent lives and sucking the life out of them.

Rumi swallowed, slow. Her hands were in her coat pockets, fingers curled. Her sword pulsed lightly against her back, recognizing the presence of the enemy. She felt it too. The heaviness in the air, the taint in the world. She didn’t need to see their hidden forms to know what they were.

She never needed to.

“We take them fast,” she said quietly. “No collateral.”

Mira smirked. “That’s always the goal, sweetheart.”

Zoey nodded. “And then back to the honmoon. We're so close. I felt it this morning, the barrier. It shimmered gold at the edges.”

A quiet kind of pride bloomed in Rumi's chest — not for herself, but for them. Mira, with her fearless sharp grin. Zoey, fierce and loyal, her laugh loud enough to shake walls. They were the only family she knew now, besides Celine. And they were good. Pure. Human. She… wasn’t.

They didn’t know that part.

They didn’t know that underneath the long black sleeves and cool sarcasm, Rumi’s skin bore twisting inked patterns that were not ink at all. That her blood sometimes felt like it whispered in a voice she didn’t recognize. 

They didn’t know because she’d never told them.

And she never would.

Because Celine — quiet, steel-eyed Celine who had raised her like her own — had looked Rumi in the face, years ago, and said: "If they find out, they won't care that you're good. They'll only see what made you. You'll lose them." And Rumi believed her. Of course she did.

Zoey gave her a little nudge. “You good?”

Rumi blinked, cleared her throat. “Yeah. Always.”

Zoey grinned and hopped down the fire escape. Mira followed like a silent storm. Rumi stood there a second longer. Watching the windows of the restaurant. The way the demons laughed. How normal they looked. How human.

Her stomach twisted. She hated them. Even when some part of her whispered, you're one of them.

She pulled her sword out as she leapt down, the metal humming in her grip. The air thickened with the promise of blood and smoke. They moved fast. The first demon didn't even register the danger before Zoey slit his throat — no blood, just ash and the hiss of disappearing magic.

Poof, and gone.

Mira skewered two, clean through, turning them into dust in the blink of an eye. Rumi’s sword met the fourth, a tall woman with eyes that flickered silver. Their blades clashed, sparks singing through the room, and the demon — in her true form now — snarled at her, eyes wide. “You,” the demon hissed, confused.

“You’re one of—” Rumi drove the sword through her chest before she could finish. She turned to ash mid-sentence. No hesitation. No mercy.

The fifth tried to run.

Mistake.

Rumi hurled her sword — it cut through the air, whistling with heat and fury — and sliced the demon in half.

Gone. Just like that, it was over.

Silence fell over the ruined tables and scorched walls. “Well,” Mira said, breathless. “That was fun.” Zoey wiped her blades on her sleeve.

Because honestly, killing these assholes was something the three found pleasure in. They consumed human souls, the hatred was valid.

“They’re getting bold again.” Rumi walked over, pulled her sword back into her grip. It cooled in her hand, humming faint thanks.

“Or desperate,” she said.

“The honmoon’s almost complete. They know it.”

Mira’s face lit up. “We’re really close, huh?”

“Golden barrier, baby.” Zoey beamed.

“We do this right, no more demons slipping through the cracks. Humanity, safe. Us, legendary.” Rumi's smile — wide and genuine. They were close now. 

So close, they could already taste it.

But deep down, where her mother’s memory whispered and her father’s blood throbbed — something dark stirred. Because if the honmoon became gold — if it truly kept all demons out — then…

Where would she go? 

Chapter Text

The honmoon shimmered faintly, suspended between the three girls like the delicate beginnings of a golden net. It pulsed with their combined energy, soft waves of heat and magic rippling through the open air. The ancient runes carved into the ground glowed in time with their breath, brighter than last week.

Stronger.

Closer.

“We're nearly there,” Zoey said, her eyes locked on the center of the barrier. Her brow was slick with sweat, but she looked exhilarated.

“It’s getting warmer. Do you feel that?”

“Yeah,” Mira said, her palms pressed against the rune on her side.

“It’s responding quicker, too.”

Rumi didn’t answer. The edges of her vision blurred slightly, the world tilting on a strange, slow axis. Her chest tightened. The magic buzzed through her bones wrong — not like it usually did, like it belonged — but jagged, sharp, like her blood was fighting it.

“Rumi?” Mira looked over at her, concern blooming in her voice. Rumi blinked hard, willing the nausea to settle.

“I just need… five minutes. I’ll be right back.”

“Are you okay?” Zoey stepped toward her.

She really wasn't. 

“Yeah. Just... lightheaded. I’m fine.” She offered a quick smile — fake, tight — and turned before they could press further.

She walked quickly, out of the clearing and toward the old building near the edge of the site. The door to the bathroom creaked open, hinges protesting. She locked it behind her and leaned over the sink, breathing hard.

She stared at herself in the cracked mirror.

Her reflection looked pale, skin damp with sweat. She could feel the heat crawling up her spine, the awful itch under her skin.

It was never this strong. Never.

Not during battle. Not even in nightmares.

She gripped the hem of her shirt and pulled it up. Slowly.

The patterns were no longer confined to her arms and chest. They had crept up her collarbones, spread like ink spilled in water. Across her shoulders. Her neck.

Thin purple lines, coiled like vines, edged with dull red. Pulsing slightly.

Her throat locked. She dropped her shirt and stumbled back from the mirror.

No no no no—

Her hands were shaking. She pressed them to her face, but it didn’t help. This couldn't be happening. 

She could still feel them — those marks — crawling on her skin, a map of everything she wasn’t supposed to be.

Why now?

She was so close. The honmoon was almost gold.

They were so close to ending this, ending all the monsters. All the demons.

All those soul sucking fuckers would be gone for good.

But something inside her — the demon part — it knew.

And it was reacting. Flaring.

Maybe it was fighting back. Maybe it was warning her. 

But from what?

Rumi ran. She didn’t think, didn’t grab her coat, didn’t tell the others.

She couldn't. The thought didn't even cross her mind. It was all so messed up in her mind. Nothing felt important.

She wanted out. 

Out. Out. Out.

She just sprinted. Out of the building. Through the trees. Past the rusted fence. She didn’t stop until the city became distant lights and the air was clean and cruel against her lungs. She reached the top of the hill and collapsed onto her knees.

Below her, the city hummed. Alive. Loud. Human.

And here she was. Stained. Half something they spent their lives trying to destroy.

She dug her fingers into the grass, eyes burning.

And then she screamed. A raw, broken thing. Into the wind. Into the sky. Into the uncaring world.

“Why now?!” she shouted, voice cracking.

“Why now, when I’m so close to getting it gold? Why when I finally belong?!”

Silence answered her.

Not even the wind dared respond. She buried her face in her hands. And for the first time in years, she cried. 

She didn’t know how long she sat there. Long enough for her knees to go numb. Long enough for the sky to grow darker.

She didn’t want to go back. Didn’t want them to see her like this. Like something coming undone.

But deep down, she knew she couldn’t run forever. Eventually, she’d have to return.

Eventually, Zoey and Mira would come looking. And when they did... She didn't know if she'd still have a place beside them.

Chapter Text

The first pale light of dawn broke over the trees, casting long shadows across the clearing where the honmoon pulsed faintly — silver now, barely flickering, like a dying heartbeat.

Rumi stood at the edge of it, her breath fogging slightly in the cold morning air. Her hands trembled as she reached toward the nearest rune, trying to channel her energy like she always had. Just like yesterday. Just like every other day for the past four years.

Nothing happened.

The rune stayed dim. Cold. 

She pressed harder, closing her eyes, trying to summon it — the heat, the power that always lived just beneath her skin. Her sword didn’t stir. Her veins felt quiet. Hollow. Her magic was… fading.

This couldn't be happening right now. This shouldn't be happening right now.

“No, no, come on,” she whispered, voice sharp with panic.

“Just five seconds. Please.”

But the more she pushed, the more the world tilted again. That awful lightheadedness returned, worse than before — a buzzing behind her eyes, a weight in her chest like something was trying to crawl its way out. Her legs wobbled. She clutched the edge of the stone circle, knuckles white. Her head pounded. And then the world blurred.

What was happening to her?

“Rumi?” Her name — groggy, confused — came from behind her.

Zoey. Then Mira. The other two girls stepped out of the cabin, wrapped in mismatched hoodies and heavy yawns. They looked like they hadn’t been awake for more than ten seconds. Mira blinked at her, rubbing her eyes. “Why are you out here so early? We said—” 

Rumi swayed. Zoey’s sleep-fog cleared instantly. “Rumi!” She fell. Both girls ran to her before she hit the ground. Zoey caught her just in time, kneeling down and gently lowering her onto the grass.

“Hey, hey, what’s happening? What’s wrong with you?” Zoey’s voice was frantic now, hands cupping Rumi’s cheeks.

“Are you hurt? Are you—?”

“I don’t… I can’t…” Rumi tried to speak, but the words dissolved in her throat. Her heartbeat was too fast. The grass under her felt like it was slipping away. Like she was falling into something much deeper than the earth.

And she knew this was because of the patterns and her blood. 

Mira crouched beside them, placing her hand on Rumi’s shoulder. “She’s burning up.”

“I’ll get water,” Zoey said, but she didn’t move — not until Mira nodded. The moment Zoey disappeared into the cabin, Mira looked down at Rumi, eyes searching.

“You were off last night. I thought you were just tired. But this—this is something else. And you just left.” Mira's eyes were on her, concerned. “What happened, Rumi?”

Rumi didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her chest rose and fell too fast. Her fingertips tingled. She felt disconnected.

Like her magic was receding, inch by inch, dragging the rest of her with it. And worse — she could feel her marks again. Not just on her skin now. Beneath it. Writhing. Reaching.

Mira’s brows furrowed. “You didn’t use your powers just now, did you?”

Rumi tried to sit up but sank back down again, dizzy. “I... I tried.” Mira looked toward the honmoon, which remained silver.

“You’ve never failed to charge it before,” she said softly, voice cautious. “Never.”

That was the point. She had never failed before. The irony of all this happening was diabolical.

Rumi looked away. She didn’t want to see Mira’s face. Didn’t want to see what suspicion looked like in the eyes of someone she loved like a sister. Zoey returned seconds later, kneeling and holding out the water. Rumi took it with trembling hands, but didn’t drink. She didn’t trust herself to hold the cup steady.

“I’m fine,” she said quietly.

“You’re not.” Zoey’s tone was firm but worried.

“We should get you to Celine. You need rest. Maybe this is burnout. Or—some kind of energy drain.”

Rumi didn’t answer again. She felt like a thousand things were pressing on her chest — lies, guilt, secrets.

Blood. 

She glanced toward the honmoon. Still silver. Still waiting. And for the first time, a terrifying question sank into her bones:

What if I am the reason it hasn't turned gold yet?

Chapter Text

Rumi sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of Mira’s oversized fleece blankets, pretending the warmth was doing something — anything — to help the cold coil of dread in her stomach. Zoey and Mira hovered nearby, arms crossed, their matching worried expressions unbearable.

She hated being the one they worried about.

“I’m fine,” she said again, eyes on the glass of water she hadn’t touched.

“Bullshit,” Mira said.

“I think it’s just low iron. I’ve felt this before, kind of. It’s probably just physical. Not magical.”

“Since when do you feel like this?” Zoey raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never even had a headache before.”

“I mean… people change,” Rumi said with a shrug that cost her more effort than she liked. “Bodies change. Maybe I’m just burning too much energy. Maybe I need actual medical advice instead of magical fixes for once.”

Mira looked at her with narrowed eyes.

“You want to go to a doctor?”

“Yeah,” Rumi nodded quickly. “Run some blood tests. Iron, B12, whatever. Normal stuff. Just rule things out, you know?”

“Why not just ask Celine?” Zoey said, leaning against the wall. “She’s the closest thing we have to a supernatural physician. She *trained* us. She knows more about magical imbalances than any human—”

“No,” Rumi interrupted a little too fast. “Celine’ll just say it’s stress. Or start making me drink some weird herbal sludge again. I don’t want that. I don’t want to... worry her.”

Mira raised an eyebrow. “But you’ll let us worry?”

Rumi looked up and gave them both a tired, sheepish smile. “You already do. Might as well give you something normal to worry about.”

Zoey exhaled loudly, raking a hand through her dark hair. “Okay. Fine. If it makes you feel better, we’ll go see a doctor later today. You, me, Mira — get some real tests done. Rule out whatever iron-deficiency nonsense you’ve self-diagnosed.”

“Thanks,” Rumi said softly, voice steady now. She could lie when she needed to. She'd been lying for most of her life.

Truth was, she already knew what Celine would say.

That it wasn’t her iron. 

She already knew that. She just made that up right now.

That the dark creeping patterns climbing her skin meant her demon blood was waking up — for real now. That the closer the honmoon got to gold, the more unstable she’d become. That magic like hers didn’t go quietly. It either took over or it destroyed everything around it.

And if she told Zoey and Mira that?

She’d lose them.
Forever.

And she couldn't lose them.

So no. No Celine. Not yet.

Not any time soon either.

She’d go to some fancy clinic, let them poke around, pretend like this was just something to fix with a pill or a smoothie. They had the money. The connections. All the comforts that came with being powerful, successful, young hunters living in a fully warded luxury loft on the twelfth floor with views of the skyline and a stocked wine fridge none of them ever touched. They could buy the illusion of control. Even if it wasn’t real. Even if something inside her — the part she never let out — was twisting tighter by the hour.

Later that afternoon, the three of them sat in the private waiting room of a quiet uptown clinic, sunlight spilling through the tall windows, filtered by enchanted glass to keep out any tracking energy or demonic remnants. Zoey was flipping through a magazine without reading a word, and Mira was scrolling her phone, silently checking city incident reports like she always did.

Rumi sat still, her fingers clasped in her lap, feeling the pulse in her neck. The patterns were just under the collar now. She could feel them when she swallowed.

Please, she thought, just be something human related.

Let her keep her friends. Her place. Her normal.

Just a little longer.

Chapter Text

“Well, your vitals are solid,” the doctor said as he tapped on the enchanted tablet, his tone clipped but friendly. “Iron’s a bit low, but not dangerously so. Could be dietary, could be fatigue. I’ll put you on supplements for a few weeks and we’ll monitor it. You’ll be fine.”

That is great, really.

Rumi nodded quietly from the exam table, her fingers twisting around the edge of her sleeve. He didn’t see the marks. Of course not. No human scan would. No matter how expensive the machines or how thorough the spellwork woven into this shiny, white-walled clinic.

But fine. This worked. She could use this diagnosis. She could wear this “human weakness” like a mask.

By the time they stepped outside, the midday sun had warmed the city into something brighter, more alive.

Their laughter echoed on the sidewalk, loose and easy for the first time in days.

“Told you,” Rumi muttered, tucking the prescription bag into her tote. “Supplements. Nothing fatal. I just need to eat more spinach or whatever.”

“You’re still dramatic for not telling us sooner,” Mira said, giving her a light punch on the arm. “But fine. I’ll accept it.”

“Yeah,” Zoey added. “But only because this means you’re not turning into a skeleton.”

“Thanks for the concern, creeps,” Rumi said, trying not to smile. The tension in her shoulders hadn’t gone away, not really, but pretending helped. This helped.

It really did.

That's when the three turned to walk out of the alley.

It was like slow motion. Four guys, walking shoulder to shoulder with the kind of effortless swagger that screamed “we know we’re hot and we use it as a weapon.” They were tall, sharp-jawed, and annoyingly well-dressed. One was wearing sunglasses despite the clouds. Another had a leather jacket too perfect to be real. They looked like a boyband that would actually win a fight. Zoey choked on her breath.

“Um—okay—who are they?”

Mira’s mouth parted slightly. “Oh. Hello? Hello???”

Rumi rolled her eyes so hard it almost gave her a headache. “You two are actually disgusting.”

“Sorry, have you seen them?” Zoey whispered.

“No thanks.” Rumi brushed past them, trying to lead the way.

“We’ve got demons to kill, not to simp over—” And then she saw him.

He was walking a few steps behind the others. Not trying to draw attention. He didn’t need to.

He was tall — taller than the rest — and broad-shouldered in a black shirt that did nothing to hide how stupidly built he was. His black hair was tousled, but not in a fake way. And his face—

Woah.

She blinked. Once. Twice. Why did he look like a painting someone had brought to life on accident? 

This was humiliating in her head.

The bag in her hand slipped slightly. And just as she stepped aside, he collided with her shoulder. Rumi gasped, stumbling and hitting the pavement hard, the contents of her tote scattering. The clatter of the supplement bottle echoed against the stone.

“Oh my God—Rumi!” Zoey cried.

The guy paused — just briefly — and for a second Rumi thought, okay, he’s going to help me up, apologize, say something smooth and ruin my life a little further— Instead, he just brushed his shoulder off with one hand.

“You should watch where you’re going.” And kept walking.

Rumi stared at his retreating back, blinking slowly.

Oh what?

“Excuse me, what?”

Mira looked at him with her brows furrowed. “Did he just—?”

“Watch where I'm going?” Rumi looked at his back as he was walking away with his friends.

Absolutely fucking diabolical.

“Oh, hell no,” Zoey hissed, already taking a threatening step forward.

“Let me just—”

“No,” Rumi muttered, gathering her stuff with gritted teeth. “Don’t. He’s not worth the legal charges.”

“He didn’t even look at you properly, asshole,” Mira said, offended on her behalf.

“Yeah, because apparently the air up there is too pure to interact with peasants,” Rumi snapped, standing up and brushing off her coat.

But her heart was still racing.

Because even as her pride burned… She couldn’t stop thinking about that look in his eyes. Cold. Sharp. Familiar in a way that made her blood crawl.

Something about him wasn’t right. Not just the attitude. Not just the way he walked through the world like it owed him.

But something deeper. Something she felt. 

She couldn't put a finger on it yet. It wasn't something she could just say. 

It was a feeling. A strange one. 

And no, this wasn't because he threw her off for a moment. This was different. 

Chapter Text

Fifteen minutes.

That was all it took for the world to go sideways.

Because peace was never an option here.

They were barely two blocks from the clinic, arguing over whether that guy’s ego had its own gravitational pull, when the first scream split the air.

It came from a restaurant across the street — glass-fronted, lively, upscale. But the second they turned toward it, the atmosphere shifted. The warmth evaporated, replaced with something colder, darker.

Familiar. Demonic.

Rumi didn’t hesitate.

“Demons,” she said, already stepping into the street.

Zoey and Mira followed in sync, eyes sharp, the playful air from before gone. They didn’t need to say anything. Their weapons didn’t need to be carried — they answered the call on instinct. Mira’s spear shimmered into her hand in a flash of silver and violet flame. Zoey’s twin blades spun into existence mid-step, like twin slivers of starlight. Rumi’s sword appeared with a hiss, heavy in her palm, its core glowing faint blue — alive, eager. It recognized blood.

The restaurant doors burst open. A woman stumbled out, face pale, eyes wide with terror, a smear of blood on her dress. Screams echoed behind her — real ones. Human ones.

They entered. Chaos. Tables overturned. Lights flickering. Shadows crawling across the walls. And at the center of it all— them.

The five guys who were supposed to be hot and cocky.

They were demons.

Ye-sung, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, looking bored. Hyun-woo, eating something from someone’s abandoned plate like he wasn’t surrounded by terror.

Su-bin, eyes glowing faintly red, teeth bared in a lazy grin. “Aw, look who it is.” Kang-dae, perched on the bar counter like it was a throne, spinning a coin between his fingers.

And then him.

Jinu.

The one who had knocked Rumi to the ground fifteen minutes ago.

Asshole.

He stood with his back to her at first, facing the center of the room, muttering something under his breath. Dark energy rippled outward from his palms, tracing glowing red symbols into the air. Rifts. Portals.

Rumi’s stomach dropped. “He’s summoning,” she said, tightening her grip on her sword. “They all are.”

At her words, Jinu turned slightly — his gaze locking onto her with recognition. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”

Rumi raised her sword. “Yeah, it’s me. And guess what? This time I’m watching where I’m going.”

He smirked.

“Cute.”

Then the portals opened. Four of them — wide, gaping tears in the fabric of the restaurant — ripping the air apart with howling wind and ash. Demons poured through. Twisted, horned, bone-armored beasts with serrated claws and mouths that never stopped screaming.

“Mira, left!” Aiza shouted, already leaping into the fray. Rumi didn’t even glance back. Her sword met the first creature mid-lunge, cutting through its chest in one smooth, practiced motion. It disintegrated in a burst of black dust. Another came from the side — she turned and drove the blade into its throat, spinning low to dodge a claw before cutting clean across its knees. Weak? Not even close. Whatever was happening to her — the fatigue, the marks, the creeping sense of dread — *none of it touched her in battle.* When she fought, she was fire and ice, precise and lethal. Zoey danced between two demons, blades flashing, fast and deadly.

Mira fought with fury, spear striking like thunder, cutting through muscle and bone as if it were paper. But even as they fought — even as the girls drove demon after demon into the ground — the five at the center of the chaos simply watched.

Amused. Unbothered.

“Cowards,” Zoey snarled, slashing through a winged creature as she glared at them.

Su-bin chuckled. “Oh, we’re not here to fight. We’re here to open doors, sweetheart.”

“What?” Zoey said as she made her way to him, cutting through other demons. 

But one by one, they stepped back toward the final portal, which hadn’t closed yet. It shimmered with a sickly red hue, hungry and waiting.

Jinu lingered last, locking eyes with Rumi again.

His gaze flickered — not to her sword, or her stance — but to her neck.

Where her collar had slipped slightly in the heat of battle. Where the edge of the black and red mark was now barely visible.

“A hunter.. who's part demon? Interesting,” He thought. 

Something passed in his expression. Not surprise. Recognition.

“You should get that checked,” he said, voice low, where only she could hear him. “Would be a shame if they found out what you really are.”

And then he vanished through the portal. Gone. Rumi stood frozen, her sword dripping demon ash, her breath ragged.

That last sentence echoed in her bones. Her heart pounded. 

He knew. 

Chapter Text

The walk home was unusually quiet.

Not because there wasn’t anything to say — there was too much — but because the weight of it sat thick between them, too tangled to unravel right now. Their boots clicked against the pavement, blood and ash still smeared faintly on their clothes, though no one commented. The city kept moving around them, unaware. As it always did. They’d fought a dozen demons in broad daylight and no one even blinked. Just another page in the long book of things humanity didn’t want to see.

“They’re doing it on purpose,” Mira muttered, finally breaking the silence. “Stirring chaos. Distracting us.”
"Fuckass demons."

“They know we’re close,” Zoey added, jaw clenched. “They know we’re almost done.”

“The honmoon’s nearly gold,” Rumi said, staring straight ahead. “And they’re terrified.”

That was the truth. The crackling, bitter truth. The demons were no longer hiding — not the way they used to. They were making moves. Opening portals in the middle of five-star restaurants. Letting themselves be seen. Because once the honmoon turned gold, the doors would close forever.

And for the first time, they were scared.

“Tomorrow,” Mira said with a yawn. “We figure out what they’re planning. Tonight, I swear to God, I just want a shower, a glass of water, and ten hours of unconsciousness.”

“Agreed,” Zoey nodded. “We shower. We sleep. Then we scheme.”

Rumi just gave a quiet “mhmm,” her hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie, hiding the places where her marks still burned faintly. She felt like she was unraveling from the inside, but none of it showed on her face. She’d gotten too good at wearing calm like armor. Besides, she was going to definitely think about this the whole night.

Once they got home — the penthouse warded and warm, full of clean clothes and soft rugs and the luxury they didn’t talk about — they split off without another word.

Rumi shut the door to her room behind her and exhaled slowly. The kind of breath you only take when no one’s watching. Her shower was longer than usual. She let the steam blur the mirror, let the hot water scald her shoulders, washing away blood, sweat, the coldness of Jinu’s last words. He’d seen her mark. And he hadn’t said it to threaten her. He’d said it like… he understood.

She hated that even more. She stepped out, in a robe, towel-drying her hair, already exhausted to the bone, her limbs heavy with fatigue. She was just reaching for her nightshirt when— Clink.

The sound of something tapping against glass. Her head snapped toward the balcony. Her sword appeared before she even called for it, gleaming and steady in her hand. The towel fell from her shoulders as she crept toward the sliding doors, bare feet silent on the polished floor.

She stepped outside, cool wind biting at her damp skin.

“Who’s there?” she called out, sword raised. Silence.

Then she saw it. A single black card resting on the railing, held in place by a silver pin. She snatched it with one hand, her fingers already curling in anger.

One location, written in sharp silver ink: “Abandoned chapel. District 9. Midnight.”

Below that, scrawled neatly:

I’m the only one who can understand you.

—J.

Rumi stared at the words for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

Then she scoffed. “Delusional,” she muttered, turning and going back inside.

“If he thinks I’m going to meet him, he’s absolutely insane.” She tossed the card onto her desk and dropped her sword beside it. But even as she crawled into bed and shut her eyes... Her mind wouldn’t let go. 

God, she needed to sleep. 

Chapter Text

Fuck it, Rumi thought, tugging a hoodie over her tank top and slipping on her soft pajama pants — the dark blue ones with ridiculous teddy bears and faded choo-choo trains. They were warm. They were soft. They were not exactly "battle gear". But she didn’t care.

She slipped through the silent penthouse like smoke, avoiding every creaky tile, every corner where Zoey or Mira might stir. Her sword didn’t gleam — it pulsed, low and quiet, ready in her palm the moment she reached the hallway.

She dropped the balcony silently and took the rooftops, letting her instincts guide her in the dead of night.

Instincts were one think that didn't disappoint Rumi, ever.

District 9 was a ghost district. Most of the buildings were hollowed out, left to rot after the demon surge a decade ago. And there, nestled between cracked roads and rusted fences, was the chapel. Roof half-caved in. Windows boarded. Crosses broken. Perfect place for a trap.

Yeah, this is a trap, Rumi thought.

Which was why she didn’t walk through the front.

She crept in through the side — agile, focused, low to the ground — and saw the silhouette before he saw her. Tall, broad, black-haired. Facing away.

Jinu.

She didn’t hesitate. Her sword came down clean, slicing for the neck. 

Thunk.

Cloth and straw. A mannequin in a hoodie. Stuffing burst out where the head should’ve been.

Behind her, a voice: “Jeez. Straight for the head?”

Rumi spun, sword pointed at his throat. Jinu stood there, hands raised in mock surrender, leaning against a broken pillar. A faint smirk played on his lips.

“Okay, okay, no need to get cranky. I just wanted to talk.”

Her grip on the sword tightened.

"I thought the mannequin was going to be a fun ice-breaker," he said, "clearly it's not."

"I'm going to kill you," she said, moving towards him.

He backs away dodging all her attacks. "Woah, woah, woah. Ease out, Merida. I just want to talk."

Merida?!

"Talk?"

He tilted his head, eyes flicking down to her pants, then back up. “But first, we have to address those pants.”

She blinked, confused for half a second before remembering what she was wearing.

“Teddy bears and choo-choo trains?” he teased, then made the sound — “Choo choo” — like a child.

Rumi’s eyes narrowed. “I should’ve gone for the throat.”

“You still could,” he offered.

“But maybe hear me out first?”

“And why should I listen to you?”

“Because I’m not your enemy,” Jinu said, voice suddenly flat. Honest.

Yeah, right, Rumi thought.

“You opened a portal today. You brought in demons.”

“To distract you. Not to kill you.”

“Oh, well, thank you for the courtesy,” she snapped.

He didn’t respond. Just walked toward a cracked pew and sat down heavily, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t call you here to joke around. I called you here because I know what you are.”

Rumi’s body tensed.

“And because I think…” he looked up at her, “...you deserve to understand what’s coming.”

"Your patterns just started growing right? And they will keep growing," he said as he got up.

His hand hovered over her neck, both their patterns glowed.

She didn’t lower her sword, but her breath came shallower.

“Why do you hate demons so much?” he asked.

It was a stupid question to ask a hunter.

“Because they don’t feel,” she said flatly. “Because they destroy, they manipulate, they kill. And they feel nothing.”

And they never will, she thought.

Jinu gave a bitter laugh. “That’s what you think?”

She didn’t answer.

“You’re wrong,” he said quietly.

“Feelings are all we have.”

She stared at him.

“How do you think Gwi-Ma controls us?” he went on, voice low. “How do you think he keeps demons from tearing each other apart? How he makes them obey, even when they don’t want to?”

"Haven't you ever had that thought?"

She didn’t speak. Because Rumi had always been so consumed by her hatred towards these monsters that she never cared to think about them on a neutral ground.

The name Gwi-Ma alone made her blood feel like ice.

“It’s not power,” Jinu said. “It’s memory. Guilt. Grief. Regret. He finds what you lost. What you did to lose it. And he shows it to you again. And again. And again. Until it breaks you. Until it becomes the only thing you remember. That’s how he rules.”

Rumi’s sword dipped slightly.

“I made a choice,” Jinu continued. “A long time ago. I was poor. I was starving. My mother and my sister were dying. I made a deal with the him. But it only resulted in my prosperity. And I was selfish. I got recognition, and got called to the castle.”

Rumi stared.

“I stayed. I ate until I was sick. Slept in beds of silk. And while I did, they died of starvation. Alone.”

Shame and guilt is all I've felt these years, he thought.

The silence between them was thick and sharp.

“I became a demon not out of rage,” Jinu whispered. “But because I was selfish and I thought happiness was worth the price. I wanted to forget. And I did — for a while. But then Gwi-Ma showed me. Every year. Every night. He showed me their faces. Their bones. Their screams.”

"And then one day, he just trapped me down with him in the underworld."

Rumi’s grip faltered.

"He torments us by these feelings and memories every day."

“I’ve lived with it for four centuries,” he said.

“And now… now I want to be free.”

She looked at him, expression unreadable. “So how does this connect to me?”

He finally met her eyes. “The honmoon’s almost gold,” he said. “And once it is — it’ll lock everything away. All demons. All memory. But before that happens, Gwi-Ma gave me one chance. One reward.”

“What reward?”

“He promised,” Jinu said quietly, “if I break the honmoon before it turns gold… he’ll take away everything. My guilt. My past. My name. My memories. He’ll erase them all. I’ll be empty. Clean.”

“And I’ll finally feel nothing.”

Rumi stared at him.

And for the first time… She felt something.

Not sympathy.

God forbid.

But recognition.

Because guilt was something she carried too. Even if her memories weren’t centuries old. Even if her demon half wasn’t something she asked for.

It haunted her. And it wanted out. She had been a mistake all her life.

And now she stood across from someone who’d let his darkness in — and was still suffering under its weight. And he was willing to destroy the world to forget it.

Chapter Text

She didn’t wait.

Not even a breath.

The second the words left his mouth — I’ll finally feel nothing — Rumi lunged.

Those words enraged her.

He was selfish.

Didn't wanna feel anything? Well, tough luck, she thought.

Her sword came down in a clean arc, sparks flaring against the air as it met the edge of his gauntlet, summoned in the blink of an eye.

He was ready for her.

Of course he was.

They broke into a blur of motion across the ruined chapel, boots crunching against shattered stone and cracked tile, her blade striking again and again with deadly precision — all killer instinct, no mercy.

She wasn’t here to talk.

She wasn’t here to understand.

She was here to stop him.

To kill him, and end this once and for all.

“You think I’ll let you destroy the honmoon?” she snarled, ducking under his elbow and slashing up — he dodged, barely.

The honmoon was what the ancestral hunters had been working on. If he thought she'd let him destroy it, he was borderline insane. 

“I hoped you’d just come for a chat,” Jinu grinned, breathless as he deflected her again.

“This is even better.”

Her only response was a low growl and a swing for his ribs.

He disappeared for a fraction of a second — blinked out of existence in a burst of smoky magic — and reappeared behind her. She didn’t miss a beat. Pivoted fast, blade toward his throat. He caught it in his palm — barehanded — and she froze, stunned, watching blood drip between his fingers.

He smirked, even through the pain. “You’re strong. Not just for a hunter. For anyone.”

“I’m not flattered,” she hissed, wrenching the sword free and slicing upward.

This time, he wasn’t fast enough — the blade nicked across his chest, cutting clean through his shirt and leaving a glowing red gash across his skin.

He winced. But he didn’t attack.

“Why are you hesitating?” she demanded.

“Because,” he said, stepping back, voice quieter, “if I fight you the way I fight everyone else… I’ll end up hurting you. And I’d rather not.”

Cocky. Bastard.

She stared at him, caught off guard.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“Maybe.” He flexed his hand, blood trailing down his arm.

“But I meant it.”

She surged forward again, her strikes sharper now, fueled by more than rage. Desperation. Not just to stop him. But to shut out that part of her — that cursed, empathetic part — that understood what he felt.

Guilt. Regret. Loneliness.

The marks on her own skin burned hotter the more he talked. The more he looked at her like he knew something no one else did.

Something true.

He caught her wrist mid-strike and they crashed against a pillar, breathing hard. Her blade was pressed against his throat again, but he didn’t move.

“This isn’t just about me,” he said quietly. “You know what it’s like.”

“No,” she snapped, chest heaving. “I’m not like you.”

"I am nothing like you."

“Aren’t you?” he asked. His eyes — those dark, ancient, sad eyes — held hers.

“You hate what you are. You hide it. You bury it in long sleeves and fake smiles. You’re already bleeding inside. Tell me that’s not the same thing.”

"Face yourself, Rumi. This is who you are. Half demon."

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

She pressed the blade harder against his neck.

“You want me dead?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He smiled. “Liar.”

With one quick twist, he pushed her back — not hard, not to hurt — just enough to break the tension. She stumbled a step, and he vanished again, reappearing by the far wall.

“Don’t follow me tonight, Rumi,” he said softly. “I meant what I said. I don’t want to fight you.”

She threw her sword, fast and clean. Aiming straight at him.

He caught it by the hilt midair, spun it once in his hand, and tossed it back to her with an infuriatingly smooth flick. She caught it. And glared.

“I’m going to stop you,” she promised.

He smiled again, but this one was quieter. Sadder. “And I'll be here when you stop pretending,” And with that — smoke and shadows — he was gone.

Rumi stood there in the broken chapel, chest rising and falling, her sword back in her grip, her pulse thunder in her ears.

She hated him. She hated his smirks, his games, his understanding.

But worst of all? A part of her didn’t want him to disappear.

Fuck you, empathy.

Chapter Text

The scent of coffee hit her first.

What the, she thought.

Rumi stepped out into the living room by 10 a.m., her hoodie thrown loosely over a fresh shirt, her hair still slightly damp from a rushed shower. The floor was warm beneath her feet — heated tiles, courtesy of the ridiculous luxury apartment they lived in — but it did nothing to thaw the tension still coiled in her shoulders.

He still lingered in her mind.

The balcony door was cracked open. Morning light poured in, spilling across the wood floor, golden and soft. For a moment, it almost felt normal.

Almost.

Zoey and Mira were already sprawled on the couch, coffee mugs in hand, a large breakfast spread across the glass table: scrambled eggs, toast, strawberries, waffles stacked high with way too much whipped cream. Rumi blinked.

“You cooked?” she asked, eyeing the feast.

“I reheated,” Mira corrected, gesturing with her fork. “And Zoey ordered.”

“Obviously,” Zoey added. “You think we have the emotional stability to cook today?”

Rumi snorted and dropped into the chair beside them, grabbing a waffle and a mug. “Fair.”

“So,” Mira said between bites, “we plan.”

“Over coffee and breakfast?” Rumi asked.

Zoey grinned. “What else is new?”

Honestly, this was normal. They fell into it easily, the way they always did — years of hunting side by side meant they had rhythms, silent cues, shorthand in words and glances. But this time, it felt heavier. Bigger. The demon attacks weren’t random anymore. They were strategic.

Personal.

“We need to assume the portals will keep coming,” Zoey said, leaning over the map they’d unrolled onto the table. It showed the city, marked with glowing sigils, wards, and energy trails.

“And that they’re going to get smarter about it,” Mira added, tracing her finger along one of the red lines. “Last night’s restaurant hit wasn’t about feeding. It was about stalling. Throwing us off.”

You got that right, Rumi thought.

“That's because we’re close,” she said, sipping her coffee. “The honmoon’s almost there. It’s reacting faster now when we charge it. It’s… humming.”

“And they are scared as fuck right now,” Mira said.

“Well, they should be.” Zoey cracked her knuckles. “They’re not going to win. Not when we’re this close.”

"That's a given," Mira added.

“But we’ll need to train harder,” Rumi said. “Tighten everything. No more slow mornings, no more lazy sparring. Full rotations. Real drills. This is endgame prep.”

Mira raised her mug. “To broken bones and pulled muscles.”

Rumi clinked hers against it. “To bruises.”

Zoey grinned and toasted them both. “To kicking those demons' asses.”

And just like that, the planning began — between bites of breakfast and lines drawn across maps, between laughter and the occasional insult. It felt almost comforting. Almost normal.

But Rumi's heart still carried the memory of last night. Of Jinu’s eyes. Of the truth in his voice.

She didn’t tell them about him. Not yet. There was no room for confusion right now.

No space for tangled loyalties or conflicted feelings.

The honmoon had to reach gold. And they had work to do. So she pushed everything else aside.

Focused.

Trained.

Planned.

And pretended like her mind wasn’t constantly drifting back to a ruined chapel… and the demon who understood her too well. 

Chapter Text

The days that followed were not light.

They weren’t laced with their usual jokes between sparring rounds or teasing each other over who bruised worse. The laughter that once lived between their punches and parries was gone. This wasn’t just training anymore. It was war preparation.

Every morning started the same: wake up before sunrise, stretch until their muscles screamed, run through combat sequences until their arms burned. They trained together and then trained alone, strengthening their control over their weapons, learning how to charge the honmoon more efficiently, pouring everything they had into the one thing that still mattered — finishing it. Turning it gold.

That is the only thing that mattered. 

Rumi pushed herself the hardest. She was always first on the rooftop training ring and last to leave. Sweat soaked through her clothes before the sun even touched the sky. Her arms ached, her body screamed, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t afford to stop.

Because if she slowed down, even for a second, her thoughts would catch up to her.

Him.

His words.

That she had to face it. That she was half demon. That she was a monster. That she was nothing but a mistake. 

Every night, just after she’d dragged herself to her room, peeled off her damp hoodie, and collapsed into bed — it would be there.

Another card. She never saw him. Never heard him. But each time she opened her balcony door, there it lay on the small table beside the railing.

Heavy black cardstock, the same silver script across the center.

Hello, friend.

Nothing else. Not a location. Not a plea. Just that.

Like a whisper meant to wear her down.

The first night she tore it in half.

The second, she burned it with the edge of her sword.

But after that… she stopped reacting.

She would find it, stare at it for a minute — sometimes longer — and then toss it aside like it didn’t matter.

But it did.

She still hadn’t told Zoey or Mira.

That felt awful too by the way. 

But how could she? How does one even bring that up?

“Hey guys, by the way, the demon prince keeps writing me friendly postcards.”

No. That would go over great.

And besides, it wasn’t like she was answering them. She didn’t go back. She didn’t meet him again.

She didn’t want to.

Not really. …Right?

Still, her fingers lingered on the edge of the card every night. Still, she’d find herself wondering if he was close. If he was watching. If he knew that some stupid part of her — the part she hated — almost wanted to talk.

But she never went.

She focused on training. On staying strong. On hiding the marks that continued their slow, quiet climb beneath her clothes.

Because whatever Jinu said — whatever twisted bond he thought they shared — she knew who she was.

She was a hunter. Just like her mother was.

And she would finish the honmoon, even if it tore her apart.

Even if it cost her, her life. 

Chapter Text

It started out as just another brutal training day.

Their bodies were sore, bruises old and new painting their limbs like war medals. Mira was perfecting her mid-air spear spin, Zoey was running footwork drills so fast the ground practically burned beneath her, and Rumi was slicing through energy targets with deadly grace. No jokes. No distractions.

Until the screaming started.

Not close, but not far either — the kind of sound that pierced the soul.

The kind that wasn’t just fear.

It was despair. The three snapped into formation instantly.

Rumi's sword shimmered into her hand, Zoey's blades hissed into the air, and Mira’s spear thrummed with power as they ran, leaping from the rooftop and tearing through the city toward the source of the sound.

Demons.

Not just attacking — feasting.

Feeding off soul energy, draining civilians in broad daylight. A family of five huddled behind a wrecked food cart. Two kids were already limp.

“Take the left!” Zoey shouted, launching forward.

“Cover the people!” Mira barked.

Rumi moved without a word, her body already humming with fury.

She didn’t care how many there were — she would cut through all of them.

Until she saw him.

Jinu.

Standing casually at the heart of the chaos like he was just *observing*, hands in his pockets, that same maddeningly calm smirk on his face.

“Oh, you,” Rumi snapped, already charging.

He looked up as if surprised — pleased even.

“Rumi. You came.”

Her sword answered him before she did, slashing forward in a silver arc — but he dodged effortlessly, stepping to the side like they were dancing.

“You always come straight for me,” he teased, catching her sword against his forearm, letting it bite just enough to bleed. “Makes a demon feel special.”

“Shut up,” she growled, sweeping low with her blade.

“Is this how you treat all your friends?” he grinned, leaping back onto a broken ledge. “Because I’m starting to question your people skills.”

"We're not friends."

Their blades clashed again, light and shadow slamming together midair.

It was fast, chaotic — the edge of a real fight, but never crossing the line. Like before.

Like always.

Except this time— Rip.

She felt it. The tear. It wasn’t much — just a sound, a snap of fabric as her sleeve caught on the edge of a rusted signpost.

But she felt the air on her skin.

And she knew.

She stumbled back just slightly, her eyes flicking down.

The marks.

Her demon patterns — purple and blue, like ink and flame — swirled across her upper arm, curling around her bicep, burning with faint heat.

“Shit—”

“Rumi?” Zoey's voice called sharply behind her.

Mira was turning, spear dripping with black ash.

Their gazes were locking onto her. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes wide.

Not now. Not like this. Please—

And then Jinu moved. Not toward her — in front of her.

A blur of motion as he planted himself between her and the others, catching their attention with a wave of his arm and a flash of flame against his palm.

They both locked eyes. Looking at each other, as if nothing else was going on. 

As if she wasn't killing him a second ago. 

Rumi barely processed it — until he spun to her, fast, and pushed her gently toward a pile of debris.

“Go,” he said low. “Now.”

She stumbled behind it, confused, heart thundering — and looked down. Her sleeve had been wrapped. Not with her own fabric — but with another cloth, dark and unfamiliar, tied tight around her bicep.

His.

He’d ripped a strip from his own shirt and covered her.

He covered her. 

Shielded her from the only people she cared about.

She looked back toward the fight — but he was already gone, vanished into the chaos.

Zoey and Mira were still fighting, distracted, their eyes scanning for enemies, not her.

She stayed low, breath shallow, hand pressed to the cloth.

It was warm.

Damn him.

Damn him for covering for her.

Damn him for understanding.

Damn him for making it harder to hate him.

What the fuck just happened?

Chapter Text

The door shut behind them with a heavy click, the kind that echoed across the marble floor of their high-rise penthouse like a full stop.

The battle had drained them. Every step home had been quieter than the last — three tired girls limping more than walking, stained in soot, sweat, and exhaustion. The city lights outside blinked lazily through the tall windows, mocking how normal everything looked when their world was constantly on fire.

Rumi dropped her sword onto the armchair. It vanished mid-air before it could land. Zoey kicked off her boots and groaned, flopping down on the couch like she’d been shot. “I think I pulled something I didn’t know could be pulled.”

Mira didn’t sit. She stood, arms crossed, pacing slow, deliberate steps across the living room rug.

And then— “So,” she said, voice sharp despite how tired she looked. “Wanna talk about how you let Jinu go just now?”

Rumi turned toward her slowly, chest still tight.

“I didn’t let him go.”

“You hesitated.”

“I was fighting him.”

“No, you were dancing with him.” 

Zoey sat up a little. “Guys…”

“I had it under control,” Rumi said flatly.

“Right. That’s why he walked away without a scratch and blew up half the street as a parting gift,” Mira snapped, her tone colder now.

“You hesitated, Rumi. Why?”

Rumi opened her mouth, then closed it. A part of her wanted to say because he covered for me. Because if he hadn’t, they would’ve seen her patterns, and this conversation wouldn’t just be tense — it would be over. 

It cannot be over.

But she couldn’t say that. Not now. Not without unearthing the entire truth.

“I don’t know,” she finally muttered.

Mira narrowed her eyes. “You always know. That’s your thing. You don’t mess up. You don’t miss. So why the fuck did you let him go?”

For god's sake Mira, shut up, Rumi wanted to say.

“I didn’t—”

“Guys,” Zoey cut in again, firmer this time.

Rumi and Mira both turned toward her. Zoey was quiet, eyes on both of them.

“Let’s not do this here. Not when we’re half-dead. Not when we’re pissed off. We need to regroup, not tear each other apart.”

Mira looked like she wanted to say more — her jaw clenched, anger still coiling in her shoulders — but she didn’t. Instead, she huffed and stalked off toward her room, muttering something under her breath as she disappeared behind the door. Rumi stood frozen in the middle of the room, hands clenched at her sides.

“You okay?” Zoey asked after a long pause.

No.

“I’m fine,” Rumi said softly.

Zoey stared at her for a beat longer, then nodded. “Go sleep, Rumi. We're gonna train again tomorrow.”

"You can't get out of that." Her voice was soft, and a small smile on her face as she looked at her.

"Yeah," Rumi said, her voice trailing off.

And then Zoey, too, vanished into her room. Leaving Rumi alone. The second she stepped into her own room, she went to the balcony, heart already sinking. Eyes filling with tears. And there it was. Another card. Black, smooth, unreadable except for the two familiar words in that silver, slanted script.

Hello, friend.

She didn’t touch it this time. She didn’t tear it or burn it. She just stood there, staring at it. At the dark city stretching out below. At the cloth still tied around her arm beneath her shirt — his cloth.

Mira was right to be angry.

Because this wasn’t just about letting a demon go.

It was about letting herself feel something she shouldn’t. And next time… she wasn’t sure if she could lie her way out of it again.

Chapter Text

She didn't sleep that night.

She couldn't.

The guilt she felt that night, it was too much. She couldn't tell Mira or Zoey anything because she thought they'd see her as nothing but the monster she was. 

And Jinu, he confused her. Caught her off-guard. Why did he do that? 

Was it an elaborate scheme? Was this planned?

Was it genuine? 

She had no clue. And Rumi didn't like being kept in the dark. She hated not knowing.

Her room was dark, moonlight streaking across the wooden floor, the air too still, too thick. She sat on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, the soft cotton of her sleeve clenched in her fists. Jinu’s cloth was still tied around her arm.

She should’ve burned it. Ripped it off. Pretended it never happened.

But she hadn’t. Instead, it sat there — a quiet reminder.

Of him.

Of the guilt she didn’t want to admit.

Of the truth she couldn’t tell.

Rumi stood up just before dawn, jaw set with silent resolve.

She grabbed a small card from the drawer beside her bed — the same kind he used.

Black, smooth.

Cold to the touch. She took a silver ink pen, stared at the blankness for a long beat. And then, with a deep breath, she wrote:

Save the date.

Stone Bridge. East End.
4:00 PM.

Nothing else. No name. No explanation. If he was really watching — if he really understood her like he claimed — he’d know it was from her.

She slipped out to the balcony, hair unbrushed, hoodie tugged over her tank top, soft pajama pants making another unwanted reappearance. It was early enough that the city still slept.

The wind was cool, brushing softly against her face.

She stood there, card in hand, and placed it exactly where he always left his. Then she walked back inside and shut the door. No hesitation.

She wasn’t going to be pulled along anymore.

If he wanted to talk — really talk — then she would set the terms.

No smoke. No riddles. No cryptic stares or vanishing acts.

Just him.
Just her.
And everything in between.

Chapter Text

Jinu stood at the far end of the stone bridge, one foot casually braced against the wall, the wind teasing his dark hair.

The late afternoon sun dipped low behind him, casting golden streaks across the cracked stones and water below.

He glanced at the card again — still in his hand — reading the silver words for the fifth time.

Save the date.

Stone Bridge. East End.
4:00 PM.

It was 4:08.

Where is this woman? He thought. 

He looked around. Nothing but wind and pigeons.

He let out a slow sigh and muttered, “She’s the one who wants to meet… and she’s late?”

“I’m not late,” a voice replied—*right behind him.*

He nearly jumped out of his skin. Whipping around, heart practically slamming against his ribs, he found Rumi squatting casually on the edge of the stone wall — boots planted, elbows on her knees, chin resting in her hand.

“Aargh—!” Jinu clutched his chest dramatically. “You’re trying to kill me and I haven’t even said anything yet.”

She smirked. “It’s a little fun watching you flinch.”

“You’re evil.”

“I’m half-demon, remember?”

He rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched with a reluctant smile. “You know, most people say hi like normal humans.”

“I’m not most people.”

That was true in ways he couldn’t begin to unpack. She hopped down from the wall and stood beside him, crossing her arms. The silence stretched for a moment. It wasn’t tense — just new. Uneasy. The wind moved around them, the sounds of the city distant and far away from this forgotten corner. “You look…” he gestured vaguely at her hoodie and jeans, “...comfortable.”

“You look like you forgot demons exist.”

He looked down at his jeans, dark T-shirt, and sneakers. “It’s called casual. You save the world, then you go to brunch.”

She snorted. “You're ridiculous.”

“Charming,” he corrected.

“Debatable.”

Another beat passed before he shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced at her. “So... is this a date?”

Rumi blinked. “What?”

“I mean—” He backpedaled fast, suddenly uncharacteristically awkward. “You wrote ‘save the date,’ which feels pretty date-like, and now we’re standing here. Together. Alone. At sunset.”

She looked at him like he’d grown another head. “Wow. You’re so old.”

He frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Who says things like ‘is this a date’ out loud anymore?”

“I’ve been alive for four hundred years. We didn’t *have* texting back then. We had... scrolls.”

“Oh no,” she mock-gasped. “Did you ride in on a horse today, too?”

“I could have,” he said defensively. “You don’t know my life.”

She let out a short laugh before the silence returned — this time softer.

“Anyway,” she said after a moment, gaze drifting out over the edge of the bridge. “This isn’t a date.”

His voice lowered slightly. “Then what is it?”

She paused. “It’s a… conversation.”

That word landed heavier than it should have. Jinu nodded, stepping closer, leaning his arms on the edge of the stone.

“Okay. Conversation.”

They stood like that — shoulder to shoulder, eyes on the water — like maybe this was the only place they could ever really talk. In the quiet. Away from the war. Away from the people who’d never understand.

“Why do you keep leaving those cards?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Habit.”

She didn’t look at him. “Habit?”

“Yeah, I just waited and wanted for you to show up.” She didn’t reply to that.

Not with words. But she didn’t leave either. And somehow, for now, that was enough.

They were walking now. Not far — just the stretch of the stone bridge, where the moss grew between ancient cracks and the world felt a little slower. Neither of them spoke for a while. The wind did, though. It whistled soft and low, brushing hair into their eyes and scattering leaves along the path.

"Do you hear voices in your head?" He asked.

"As in my own thoughts or.." 

"Gwi-ma," he said. 

"No," she said frowning. 

"Huh, you're lucky. I would never be able to forget the first time I heard him in my head," he said. 

She didn’t say anything, and they kept walking.

But then — somewhere between the fifth step and the next breath — something cracked open inside her. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just… gently, quietly, almost like she didn’t notice it herself until the words started coming out.

"I don't feel lucky," she murmured. 

He looked over at her.

“I feel like I’m made wrong,” she continued, arms folded tightly across her chest now. “Like I was born broken. My mom died giving birth to me. My dad’s a demon I’ve never met. I was raised by someone who taught me to kill the very thing I’m half made of.” 

"Ironic isn't it?" she laughed a little. 

Jinu’s footsteps slowed. But he didn’t interrupt.

“I lie every day. To my best friends. To myself. I train like I’m one of them, fight like I’m one of them, pretend like I’m human enough to deserve any of this.” Her voice cracked a little, just barely. “But I’m not. I’m a monster.”

"The colossal mistake of the century," she added. 

She didn’t stop walking, didn’t look at him. It was easier that way — like if she kept moving, the truth wouldn’t settle too heavy on her shoulders.

“I keep thinking,” she went on, “if I work harder, if I train more, if I just push through all the awful things inside me, maybe it’ll be okay. Maybe one day I’ll wake up and feel normal. Like I belong. Like I’m not too much.”

Jinu didn't speak. He couldn't. His throat was too tight. But he listened. 

And he understood her. 

Chapter Text

He was silent for a moment, following her steps, the crunch of gravel under their boots the only sound between them.

Then she asked it—quiet, but sharp as a blade.
“Why did you cover me yesterday?”
She finally looked at him. Her eyes were wet but hard. “Why didn’t you just let them see? Let them see what I am. The truth. That I’m not like them.”

He exhaled through his nose, jaw tight, eyes on the horizon like it held something steadier than this moment.

“Because I saw the look in your eyes, Rumi,” he said. Simple. Honest.

She blinked.

“I know what panic looks like.” He finally turned to her, meeting her gaze fully now. “I’ve seen it a thousand times on a battlefield. In alleyways. In mirrors.”

A pause.

“And I saw it in yours. That split second, when the light hit your skin and they all were turning to look — you weren’t bracing for impact. You were bracing to shatter.”

She stared at him. The night air felt heavier now, the silence stretching like it had teeth.

He stepped closer, gaze never wavering. “And for the record, I think your patterns are beautiful.”

She stared at him.

For a moment, everything stilled—her breath, her doubts, the self-loathing that clung like a second skin. His words landed somewhere deep in her chest, deeper than she meant to let them. Beautiful. No one had ever said that. Not about the patterns. Not about the parts of her she tried to bury. That she was always told to conceal.

Her heart stuttered—then, annoyingly, began to beat again. Loudly.

So, she laughed.

It was too sharp, a little forced. A defense. “You’re only saying that because you have them too. Same stripes, same curse. Takes one demon to hype up another, right?”

He didn’t smile. Just looked at her.

And that was worse.

She ran a hand through her hair, still trying to act like she hadn’t just short-circuited over a compliment. “I mean, come on. It’s like two werewolves telling each other their fur’s really shiny. It doesn’t count.”

He tilted his head slightly, that lopsided smirk tugging at his lips—because yeah, he’d felt the shift too, the way her voice wavered just a little, the way she was deflecting.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “You’re right. It doesn’t count.”
He cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing down at his boots for a second. “Definitely just... demon bias. Totally invalid.”

She raised an eyebrow, surprised he didn’t push back.

But then he looked up again, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes—like maybe he did know what that compliment had done to her, and was trying not to make a big deal out of it. Like maybe he didn’t quite know what to do with the truth either.

Just as the silence between them settled into something almost... comfortable, a crackling old voice sliced through it like a twig snapping underfoot.

“Hello, young man,” an elderly woman called out, her small frame hunched under layers of colorful shawls, wrists jangling with bracelets that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. She smiled warmly, eyes twinkling as she held out a thin silver band strung with tiny green stones. “Wanna buy a bracelet for your girlfriend?”

And just like that, they both combusted.

“Girlfriend?” he sputtered, eyes wide. “She’s not my—no, we’re not—she’s not—”

She jumped in just as quickly. “He’s not my boyfriend. Not even close. We’re just—I wouldn’t even—”

“She’s not even my type,” he blurted, scrambling.

She turned to him sharply. “Excuse me? I’m everyone’s type.”

He scoffed, flustered. “Well. Not mine.”

Her jaw dropped. “You are so full of yourself.”

“Me?” he pointed at himself, scandalized. “You’re literally offended that someone might not be in love with you.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m offended that you think you’re somehow above this—”

“See?” he said, throwing his hands up. “This is exactly why we’d never work.”

“Who said anything about working?!” she cried, cheeks flushing a dangerous shade.

They both stopped, panting slightly, glaring like two sparring champions mid-duel.

The old woman blinked once. Then, with a small, amused sigh, she turned to the girl, pressing the bracelet into her hand.

“You keep it,” she said kindly. “And maybe find yourself a better boy.”

The girl blinked, stunned. “Wait, what—”

“And you—” the woman turned to him with a slow, disapproving glare that could have withered crops—“learn some manners.”

With that, she shuffled off, bracelets clinking, leaving them frozen in place with matching looks of betrayed horror.

He turned to her. “Did I just get judged by a traveling bracelet witch?”

She looked down at the bracelet in her hand. “I think I just got blessed by one.”

Then, without looking at him, she held it out. “Here. You keep it.”

He blinked. “What? Why?”

She shrugged one shoulder, a little too casual. “It’ll give you something to hope about.”

But he didn’t take it. Just stared at the bracelet in her palm like it was some kind of puzzle he wasn’t sure he was allowed to solve.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Your loss.” And with that, she turned on her heel to walk away.

One step.
Two steps.

Then his fingers curled gently around her wrist.

She froze.

Her breath caught in her throat as she turned around, slowly. He was already looking at her—and something in his eyes made her forget how to breathe. There was no teasing in them now. No defense, no joke to hide behind. Just something quiet, something honest, and aching.

She glanced down at his hand wrapped around her wrist, the contrast of their skin, the pulse that thudded just under his thumb.
Then he looked at it too. And instantly let go, stumbling back half a step.

“I was—I was reaching for the bracelet,” he blurted, voice cracking on the last word.

She smirked, eyes narrowing. “Right. Of course.”

“No, I—I mean—” He was red to the ears now. “It’s, um, a nice bracelet.”

She handed it to him with an exaggerated flourish. “Congratulations. May it bring you eternal wisdom or the ability to talk to girls.”

He looked down at it in his hands, thumb brushing over the threads; blue and purple woven together, and something in him went still again. His eyes flicked up to her, softer this time. Calmer.

“For what it’s worth, Rumi,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t think you’re a mistake.”

She stared.

Something in her cracked. Shifted.

Her throat tightened. And for the briefest second, she thought she might say something real back—something terrifying. But instead—

“Okay. Bye,” she said quickly, turning around so he couldn’t see her face.

“Uh—yeah, b-bye,” he stammered, clutching the bracelet like it was the only thing grounding him to the planet. “I’ll, uh. Go. That way.”

She didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

The apartment was tucked above an abandoned library — a place no human had stepped foot in for decades, swallowed by dust and time. The floors creaked, the walls hummed faintly with old demon wards, and the air carried the scent of ink, ash, and secrets.

Jinu walked in just as the sun dipped behind the skyline.

The others were already there — gathered around the glowing map they’d carved into the wooden table, its lines pulsing with crimson threads, showing rifts in the honmoon, thinning points in the barrier.

Hyun-woo looked up first, eyebrows raised. “Where were you?”

Jinu didn’t answer right away. He brushed past them and dropped into the worn armchair in the corner, tossing the bracelet onto the side table like it meant nothing.

But he didn’t stop looking at it.

“I asked you a question,” Hyun-woo said again, voice firmer now. “You were gone all day.”

Kang-dae, lounging on the couch like royalty, raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t on recon. And you sure as hell weren’t scouting portals.”

“I was gathering information,” Jinu said flatly.

“Oh?” Ye-sung leaned forward, lacing his fingers. “And what did you find, O mighty leader?”

Jinu's jaw flexed. “She’s not as stable as they think she is.”

Su-bin, still silent, exchanged a quick glance with Wali. “You mean the half-blood?”

Jinu’s eyes flicked to him. “Her name is Rumi.”

“And you were the one who said we shouldn’t call her by name,” Hyun-woo said. “You warned us to keep it tactical. Detached.”

“Plans change.”

The room went still.

“You’re getting attached,” Hyun-woo said slowly.

“No, I’m getting closer.” Jinu stood now, his tone cold. “There’s a difference.”

“She’s the only one who could stop us if she figures out what we’re doing,” Ye-sung said. “If those three little hunters turn the Honmoon gold before we get a chance to destroy it—”

“She won’t,” Jinu cut in. “Not if I’m close enough to steer her.”

“And if she finds out the truth?” Hyun-woo pressed. “If she finds out that you’ve been manipulating her from the start? What then?”

Jinu didn’t respond.

Because the truth was — he didn’t know.

He was the one who had laid the blueprint. Win her trust. Keep her distracted. Find the golden point in the honmoon before they did, and shatter it. Break the balance.

But today… on that bridge…
Her voice. Her hope. The warmth of her wrist beneath his hand.

He’d felt it.

And that meant the plan had already begun to fracture.

Jinu turned away, walking toward the tall window that overlooked the darkening city.

“I’ll handle it,” he said, quieter now.

“You better,” Hyun-woo warned, his voice like iron. “Because if she gets even one second ahead of us, the lord will make us all pay.”

He didn’t answer.

He just stared out the window.

One hand in his pocket.

The other curling slowly, tightly… around the bracelet. 

Jinu closed the door to his room behind him with a soft click, shutting out the murmurs of the others, the hum of the wards, the pulsing light of the map in the other room.

Here, it was dark. Still.
The only sound was his breath—sharp, uneven—and the dull thud of his heart that he sometimes forgot he still had.

He sank down onto the edge of the bed, the bracelet still clutched in his hand.

It glinted faintly in the dim light.

Just a bracelet.

Just a girl.

But his mind wouldn’t stop replaying it—her laughter, the way she said “Okay, bye” like she was running from her own heartbeat, the way her skin felt under his fingers. Like fire. Like truth.

He stared at the bracelet for a long, long time.

And then, deep in the hollow of his chest, something shifted.

“She’s a distraction,” the voice inside growled, black and ancient, coiling like smoke through his ribs. “A threat to everything we’ve built. Everything you’ve bled for.”

“I know,” Jinu whispered. His voice didn’t sound like his own.

“You think she sees you? That when she looks at you, she’s seeing you? She’s seeing what she wants to see. A mask. A lie. You’re not the boy on the bridge. You’re what crawled out of the ruins. You’re what survived.”

His hand curled tighter around the bracelet.

“But she—”

“She’s not yours. She’s not real. Her kindness is borrowed. Her warmth is fragile. And if she finds out who you really are, what you’ve done, what we’ve done—she’ll burn you down to nothing.”

Silence.
And then—another voice. Softer. Flickering like candlelight in the wind.

But she looked at you like you were still human.
She looked at you like you could still be saved.

He shut his eyes. That part of him—the boy that still existed somewhere under the centuries of rage and fire and blood—he wanted to believe that. He wanted it like he wanted air.

But wanting had never saved anyone.

He exhaled. Long. Shaking. And when he opened his eyes again, they were colder. Sharper. The fire in them no longer flickering—but burning clean.

He slowly stood and walked to the desk. His reflection stared back at him from a cracked shard of glass—half-shadowed, half-lit, all wrong.

He dropped the bracelet onto the table.

No more hesitations.

No more fractures in the plan.

He rolled his shoulders back, steeling himself.

Win her trust.
Keep her close.
Destroy honmoon.

This time, he wouldn’t let anything stop him.

Especially not his own heart.

Chapter Text

The rooftop training ring was silent, save for the soft hum of magic beneath Rumi’s palms. She knelt at the center, hands pressed against the ancient sigil carved deep into the stone. Her breathing slowed. Her eyes were shut tight.

Then—pulse.

A flicker of golden light sparked beneath her hands, warm and sure, coiling through the lines of the honmoon like it recognized her.

Her eyes snapped open. The glow held for three seconds—four—then dimmed to nothing.

Gone.

But not gone.

She sat back hard, breath caught in her throat. Her fingers trembled—not with exhaustion, but with the weight of realization.

Her power was coming back.

Was it because of him? she thought, pulse quickening. Because I said it out loud? Let some of it out for once— the truth, the ache, the thing inside her that wasn’t human and never would be?

She shook the thought away, standing abruptly. No. Not now. Don’t overthink. Just move.

She sprinted down the stairs, two at a time, heading for the hallway door to the flat she shared with Mira and Zoey.

When she pushed it open, they didn’t notice her at first.

Mira was pacing in sharp, erratic lines, arms crossed tight, her tone clipped. “She’s lying. She’s been lying.”

“Mira, come on,” Zoey said, voice uncertain.

“I’m serious. She wasn’t at training yesterday, and she wasn’t at recon. So where was she?”

Rumi stepped forward. “I’m right here.”

Both girls spun around.

Mira’s eyes narrowed immediately. “Where were you?”

“I was out,” Rumi said simply, wiping her hands on her jacket. “Needed air.”

“Funny,” Mira said, stepping closer. “Every time you go out for ‘air,’ demons pop up.”

Rumi’s jaw tensed. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

Mira didn’t flinch. “You tell me. You disappear for hours. You act different. You defend Jinu—a demon. The one who’s been shadowing us for weeks. You expect us to believe you’re not involved?”

“I’m not,” Rumi said flatly.

“Then where were you?” Mira snapped.

Rumi stayed silent.

Because she couldn’t tell them. Not about Jinu. Not about the half-truths she’d tangled herself in. Not about the real reason the honmoon sparked to life tonight. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—tell them that her blood was just as cursed as the creatures they fought.

The voices in her head had made sure of that.

They’ll see it. They’ll see you for what you are. Monster. Betrayer. Demon.

So instead she said nothing.

And Mira saw that silence and took it as confession.

“Oh my god. You were with him, weren’t you?”

Zoey blinked. “Wait—what?”

“Mira, stop,” Rumi warned, eyes flashing.

“No. We risk our lives every day, and you’re out there what? Cuddling up to the enemy?”

“It’s not like that,” Rumi said sharply.

“Then tell us what it’s like!” Mira yelled. “Because I don’t know who the hell you even are anymore!”

That was when something in Rumi cracked.

She stepped forward, her voice like cut glass. “I’m the one who’s been keeping this team alive every time you rush into a fight without thinking. I’m the one who repaired Zoey’s lung after that last blast. I’m the one who’s kept my mouth shut every time you push too hard.”

“You think that makes you better than us?” Mira shouted. “Keeping secrets like we wouldn’t notice? Like we wouldn’t see you slipping?”

“You don’t see anything,” Rumi snapped, her eyes wild now. “Because if you did, you’d see that I’ve been dying trying to be like you. Trying to be normal. But I’m not, okay? I’m not like you.”

The air between them thinned. Mira froze.

“What does that mean?” she said slowly. “Rumi—what does that mean?”

Rumi swallowed. Her mouth opened—then closed.

Because she couldn’t say it.

Couldn’t tell them she was half demon. Couldn’t bear to watch their faces twist in horror, or pity, or betrayal.

So she turned away.

“I’m done with this conversation.”

“No, you’re not,” Mira said, lunging forward and grabbing her arm, yanking her back.

Rumi whirled, yanking her wrist free. “Don’t touch me.”

Mira’s voice was a snarl now. “Answer the damn question. Are you even on our side?”

That landed like a slap.

Zoey stepped forward, panicked. “Mira, stop!”

But Rumi didn’t look at either of them.

Just straight ahead, her voice low, quiet, burning.
“Of course I’m on your side. Even when you don’t deserve it.”

And then—everything changed.

That sharp, sinking pull hit all three of them at once.

The corrupted magic.

Rumi stiffened. “Demons.”

Zoey closed her eyes for half a second. “Subway. Downtown. Red Line.”

They all knew it.

But as they ran toward the stairs, none of them spoke.

And none of them looked at each other.

The station was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that felt wrong — like the world had paused its breathing, like something ancient was holding its breath beneath the earth.

The flickering overhead lights cast long, shuddering shadows on the tiled walls, and every step echoed like a warning.

Then came the sounds — the low growls, the guttural clicks of wet jaws snapping open somewhere deeper in the tunnels.

They all stilled.

Mira didn’t look at Rumi when she said it — voice cold, low. “If you’re on our side… then prove it.”

Rumi didn’t flinch. Didn’t respond.

She just raised her hand, and with a hiss of light and heat, summoned her sword.

That was answer enough.

Then the demons came.

They surged from the darkness — twisted shapes wrapped in illusions, faces like melted masks, claws that scraped the walls. Their fake human skins peeled off mid-lunge, and the whole platform erupted into chaos.

Zoey moved first, her blades singing through the air in twin arcs, slicing smoke from flesh. Mira followed close, her spear burning bright with gold-tinted fury, every swing a burst of light.

And Rumi—
Rumi didn’t hesitate.

She stepped into the fight like a storm breaking open.
Her blade danced like it remembered every war she’d ever bled through.
She didn’t falter, didn’t question. She fought beside them — not behind, not apart — with them.

At one point, she and Mira moved back to back without a word — Mira spinning her spear wide, forcing a demon into Rumi’s strike zone. Rumi took the shot clean and fast. Their eyes met — just for a second — and Mira said nothing. But she didn’t pull away either.

Zoey caught a demon claw nearly raking Rumi’s side — but she was there, blocking it with the flat of her blade before it touched her. “Little warning next time?”

Rumi grunted. “Didn’t see it coming.”

“Still got your back,” Zoey muttered.

Then — a break in the chaos.

A slow-moving demon, older, slower, hesitated as it saw Rumi’s blade gleam. It began to back away.

Rumi moved fast, grabbing him by the collar before he could disappear.

“Is Gwi-Ma making you do this?” she hissed. “Is he in your head?”

The demon grinned, teeth black and dripping.

And lunged.

She slashed cleanly, but the blow knocked her back hard. Her foot caught the edge of the platform. She stumbled.

And then she fell.

The scream caught in her throat.

But Zoey was already there.

She caught Rumi’s wrist with both hands just before she went over, her boots skidding across the slick floor.

“Got you!” Zoey gasped, muscles straining. “Hold on!”

Another demon lunged toward them from behind.

Mira let out a yell and launched her spear — it soared past Zoey’s head and impaled the demon mid-air, pinning it to the station wall in a burst of searing light.

Zoey hauled Rumi up with a grunt, both of them collapsing in a heap on the platform.

Rumi coughed once, eyes wide, then looked over her shoulder at Mira. “Thanks.”

Mira didn’t answer right away. Just nodded. 

Together, they stood.

They fought the last of the demons side by side, blood and light and smoke staining the floor. When the last one hissed into oblivion, the silence returned — heavier than before.

They all stood there, bruised, bleeding, panting.

Still standing.

Still together.

Then came the low mechanical hum.

They turned toward the tracks — and saw it.

A subway train, silent and still, door slightly ajar. Swaying.

Zoey stepped forward first, her expression sinking. “There’s no one inside.”

Rumi moved beside her, scanning the empty seats, the echoing stillness.

“No blood. No bodies,” Mira said grimly. “Just… gone.”

“They took them,” Zoey whispered. “Those demons didn’t come to kill. They came to collect.”

“To feed him,” Rumi murmured.

“Gwi-Ma,” Zoey said, her voice shaking. “He’s getting stronger.”

The three of them stood together, the cold station lights washing over their sweat-soaked skin, their weapons still dripping with dark smoke. They looked at each other.

Still scarred from the fight before the fight.

Still unsure of everything — except that whatever was coming, they’d face it as more than just friends.

As something messier.

And somehow stronger.

That wasn't good.

Chapter Text

The elevator creaked as it climbed toward the top floor, the air inside stuffy with dried blood, demon ash, and silence so thick it pressed down on all three of them.

Zoey leaned heavily against the wall, her jacket torn, blood staining the fabric around her ribs. She didn’t complain—she never did—but her face was pale and her breaths came sharp.

Rumi stood on her right, one arm bracing Zoey's back. Mira was on her left, jaw tight, arms crossed, spear slung over her shoulder, still faintly glowing.

The tension between the two of them sparked like electricity in the cramped space.

When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open into the penthouse hallway, they moved slowly—Zoey in the middle, steps uneven, every breath like a wince. Neither girl spoke, not until they reached the living room, half-collapsing onto the couch.

And then, Mira’s voice broke the quiet.

“What did you ask that demon?”

Rumi didn’t look at her. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Mira snapped, taking off her bloodied gloves. “You grabbed him. You said something.”

“Mira—” Rumi started, exasperated.

“No, seriously.” Mira stepped forward, her eyes flashing. “We’re fighting for our lives out there and you’re playing twenty questions with a walking nightmare?”

“I said it was nothing,” Rumi said, sharper this time, standing straighter. “Drop it.”

“I’m not going to drop it just because you say so—”

“Can you both shut up?” Zoey croaked from the couch, eyes squeezed shut, her hand pressed to her side. “I’m literally dying here.”

That quieted them.

Mira looked away first, jaw clenching. Rumi exhaled hard, running a hand through her tangled hair.

Rumi moved to the kitchen counter and grabbed the med kit, kneeling beside Zoey. “Let me see it.”

Zoey didn’t argue—just peeled her shirt up enough to reveal the ugly slash across her ribs. Rumi hissed under her breath.

“It’s not deep,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as anyone. “You’ll be fine.”

Zoey gave a weak thumbs-up. “That’s what they say in horror movies before someone dies in Act II.”

Despite herself, Rumi smiled.

Mira hovered behind them, arms crossed, pacing slightly. “You really didn’t ask him anything?”

Rumi looked up. Her face was unreadable. “I asked if Gwi-Ma was controlling them.”

Zoey blinked. Mira went still.

“And?”

Rumi shook her head. “He smiled. That’s all.”

Zoey met her eyes. “That’s not all.”

Rumi hesitated.

But how could she explain it? That the demon looked almost relieved when she asked? That there was a flicker in its eyes that looked too close to recognition?

That she felt a pull when he lunged—like the monster inside her recognized the one in him?

She stood up. “I’m gonna get you some water.”

As she moved away, Mira watched her closely. Not with anger now. With something else—something more dangerous.

Suspicion.

Because Rumi had lied.

Not about the question.

But about everything else.

The lights in the penthouse were low, flickering a little from the residual magic that still hung heavy in the air. The city outside glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Inside, it was quiet again.

Zoey lay stretched out on the couch, her shirt discarded and a makeshift bandage half-wrapped around her torso. Blood stained her side, but it had already begun to slow—her body was doing what all hunter blood did when given enough time.

She’d be fine.

She always was.

“Hold still,” Rumi said softly, kneeling beside her, pressing a cool, healing sigil into the bandage. Golden threads of light seeped out from her fingertips, threading through the cloth, the wound, sealing what little damage was left.

“I am still,” Zoey muttered. “You’re just poking like I’m made of stone.”

“You’ve got a knife wound,” Rumi replied, wiping sweat off Zoey’s forehead with the edge of a clean cloth. “Complain less.”

“You sound like my grandma,” Zoey said through a wince.

From the kitchen, Mira returned with a mug of tea she didn’t offer out loud—just set down beside Zoey with a grunt. “Drink it. Helps the healing.”

Zoey reached for it with her free hand and took a sip. “Still bitter as hell.”

“I didn’t make it sweet,” Mira said, settling cross-legged on the floor beside Rumi. “You don’t need sugar. You need blood cells.”

That earned her a weak chuckle from Zoey. “Thanks, Mom.”

Mira rolled her eyes, but she didn’t get up.

For a moment, the silence between the three of them wasn’t tense. Just… there. The kind of silence that wrapped around pain, and weariness, and the way warriors sit after a battle—when they’re still bleeding but breathing.

Rumi leaned back slightly, brushing a stray hair off Zoey’s forehead. “You’ll be fine by morning.”

Zoey gave a sleepy nod, eyelids fluttering. “I know. We all heal stupid fast. Hunter perks.”

“Still,” Rumi said, quieter, “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

Zoey cracked one eye open. “You didn’t stab me, Rumi.”

“No,” Mira said flatly. “A demon did. That she interrogated.”

Rumi’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t answer.

Zoey sighed. “Can we please not do this again?”

Mira didn’t respond.

She just stood and walked to the window, arms crossed, watching the sky flicker with the last stretch of dusk.

Rumi stayed where she was, one hand still on Zoey’s arm, grounding her even as her mind spun miles away.

Neither of them moved toward each other.

But neither walked away.

And for now, that was the closest thing to peace they'd get.

Chapter Text

The sun poured in through the tall windows, warm and soft, painting gold across the living room floor. Dust floated in lazy swirls through the beams of light, catching against half-dried bloodstains, a discarded mug of tea, a sword propped against the wall.

And three very tired hunters sprawled across the couch like a collapsed constellation.

Rumi was the first to stir.

She blinked slowly, her body sore in places she hadn’t realized she’d bruised. Her limbs were heavy, her mouth dry, her hair a tangled mess against the couch cushion.

And Zoey was half on top of her, one arm slung across Rumi’s waist like a heat-seeking octopus.

And Mira—

Rumi glanced over her shoulder. Mira’s arm was draped around Zoey, her face buried in the crook of Zoey’s shoulder, one leg thrown carelessly across both of theirs.

They were tangled.

Messy.

Soft.

Rumi laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, her heartbeat strangely steady.

So much for last night’s tension.

She tilted her head just enough to see the clock glowing faintly on the wall across the room.

12:54 PM.

Her eyes widened slightly.
Seriously?

She reached carefully for her phone and unlocked it.

No new demon alerts. No honmoon tremors.

Just… peace.

Unsettling, temporary peace.

Red flag.

She cleared her throat. “Guys…”

No response.

She tried again, nudging Zoey gently. “Guys.”

Zoey groaned. “I’m in another dimension. Go away.”

“You’re clinging to me,” Rumi muttered.

“Warm,” Zoey mumbled. “You’re warm. Shut up.”

“And Mira’s—” Rumi started.

“Snoring,” Zoey interrupted, eyes still shut. “Like a lawnmower.”

Rumi smirked.

Mira stirred at that, frowning in her sleep. “I don’t snore.”

Rumi arched a brow. “Didn’t say you did.”

Mira cracked one eye open, her voice gravel. “You implied it.”

Zoey groaned again. “Why are we alive. Why do we have to do anything.”

Rumi smiled faintly. “Because unfortunately, we’re the only thing standing between this city and total demonic collapse.”

“Oh. Right. That,” Zoey sighed. “I vote nap first. Apocalypse later.”

“Seconded,” Mira muttered, eyes closing again.

Rumi laughed under her breath.

And for the first time in days—
No blades drawn.
No accusations.
Just warmth.

They didn’t untangle right away.

And maybe they wouldn’t for a while.

Chapter Text

The apartment smelled like instant ramen and clean laundry.

The three of them sat huddled around the scratched-up coffee table in the middle of the living room, bowls steaming in front of them. The sunlight had shifted since morning, casting softer shadows across the floor. The tension from the night before lingered faintly—but it was quieter now. Duller around the edges.

Rumi twirled her noodles with her chopsticks, one leg pulled up on the couch, hoodie sleeves tugged low over her wrists. She wore it zipped all the way up even though it was borderline too warm in the apartment. Not that anyone commented on it.

Not that she’d explain why.

The patterns had spread up to her neck. The purple vines that marked her skin like they belonged.

She couldn’t let them see.

“So,” Zoey said, mouth full of noodles, “you said your powers are coming back.”

Rumi nodded, quiet. “Yeah. I wasn’t sure at first, but… the honmoon responded to me yesterday. Just a flicker, but it was gold.”

Mira paused mid-bite, then set her chopsticks down slowly. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Rumi said. “It wasn’t just a flare. It was steady. Alive.”

Zoey perked up, her tone brighter. “Then that means we can actually start working the honmoon again.”

“Less sparring, more spellwork,” Rumi confirmed, voice steady.

Mira leaned back, arms crossed loosely. “So magic drills. That’s fine. We can do that.”

Zoey blinked. “Wow. That was… uncharacteristically agreeable of you.”

“I’m not an animal,” Mira muttered, rolling her eyes. “And if it’s working, I’m not going to get in the way.”

There was a pause as they all ate quietly for a moment. Steam curled in the air, the clink of chopsticks filling the silence.

Rumi hesitated before speaking again. “It’s not consistent, though. It comes and goes. Like something’s blocking it, or holding it back.”

“Like trauma?” Zoey said bluntly, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” Rumi muttered.

“Or the half of you that refuses to exist out loud,” Mira added, not unkindly. “We’re not stupid, Rumi. Something’s been off for a while. And if there’s something we should know—”

“I’ll let you know,” Rumi said quickly. Too quickly.

Mira’s gaze lingered for a second. But she didn’t push.

“Fine,” she said. “Then let’s work with what we have.”

Rumi nodded once. “I was thinking I’d take point on the honmoon—try to hold the core steady while you both anchor it. If I can get a consistent glow again, we can push for resonance.”

“Sounds good,” Zoey said, slurping loudly. “As long as I don’t have to chant anything complicated. I always mess up the vowels.”

“I’ll handle the words,” Rumi said with a small smirk. “Just focus on channeling.”

Mira leaned forward, tying her hair back. “We start in an hour. Meet on the rooftop.”

They all stood, bowls mostly empty, plan taking shape between them.

And as Rumi walked to the sink to rinse hers, she felt it again—that low thrum beneath her skin. A flicker of power, warm and dark and hers.

The honmoon wasn’t the only thing waking up again.

She just hoped she could keep it from burning them all.

She hoped they got it gold, and she could finally be the girl she pretended to be. 

The rooftop training ring hummed with quiet tension.

Ancient sigils stretched out in a perfect circle, etched into the stone by hands long dead—ancestral hunters who had bled and fought and burned to keep the honmoon tethered to this plane. To keep the balance from shattering.

Now it was their turn.

The afternoon sun was warm but not gentle, casting long shadows across the rooftop as the three of them took their positions around the sigil. Each of them knew what they had to do. They didn’t talk much.

They’d done this before.

And they’d keep doing it—until it worked.

Rumi stepped into the center, just as she always did. The honmoon thrummed faintly beneath her boots, pulsing with dormant magic. Her hoodie sleeves were still tugged low, hiding the branching purple-and-blue patterns curled up her arms.

She inhaled once. Steady. Grounded.

“Ready?” she asked, her voice calm even if she didn’t feel it.

Zoey nodded from the north point of the ring, palms raised, eyes bright. “Ready.”

Mira gave a sharp nod from the south. “Let’s do it.”

Rumi closed her eyes. Felt the magic draw up through her fingers like water through cracked earth. Thin, delicate strands of light began to thread into the sigils around her, pulsing faintly with her heartbeat.

The honmoon responded.

The ring lit up slowly, its glow golden—but fragile. Like a candle in wind.

“Hold it,” Mira said, steady and grounding, feeding her own energy into the outer ring.

Zoey followed, her threads of light a little more erratic but just as loyal. “We’ve got you, Rumi. Just focus.”

And Rumi tried.

God, she tried.

But the flicker came again—sharp and sudden, like a short-circuit inside her chest. Her magic faltered, the golden light inside the sigil flickering violently.

“No no no—” she muttered, forcing her hands down again, willing it to come back.

It sparked. Bright.

Then sputtered out.

The magic collapsed in on itself with a pulse of heat, cracking a few sigils in the stone and knocking Rumi off balance. She caught herself with a grunt, bracing on one hand, her chest heaving.

The glow was gone. Smoke curled faintly from the cracks.

They stood there in silence for a moment.

“It’s okay,” Zoey said first, gentle but firm. “That was better than last time. You almost had it.”

“We just need more practice,” Mira added. “This isn’t a one-day thing. The honmoon’s been here for centuries. We’re not gonna force it gold in an afternoon.”

Neither of them blamed her.

No one ever blamed her.

Except herself.

Rumi stood, jaw clenched, fists at her sides. “It’s me. It’s always me. It flickers when I touch it. Like it knows.”

“It doesn’t know, Rumi,” Mira said carefully. “It’s magic. It’s old. It takes time.”

“But it didn’t used to do this,” Rumi snapped. “It used to listen.”

She turned away from them, pacing the edge of the ring. Her breath caught in her throat, tight with frustration. With shame. She could still feel the failure sparking against her ribs, settling heavy behind her eyes.

“I’m holding us back.”

“No, you’re keeping us here,” Zoey said. “You’re the only reason we’ve even gotten this far.”

Rumi didn’t respond.

She just stood at the edge of the rooftop, hoodie pulled tighter, face turned away, shoulders stiff.

And the honmoon, quiet now, sat still beneath their feet—waiting for them to try again.

Tomorrow. And the day after that.

Because this was what it meant to be a hunter.

Not perfection.

Just persistence.

Chapter Text

Days passed.

Each one bled into the next — drills, failures, flickers of gold that died faster than they came. The honmoon remained unchanged. Silent. Stubborn. Cold.

No matter how hard Rumi tried, it wouldn’t hold. And the more it slipped through her fingers, the more she spiraled inward — eating less, talking less, avoiding their eyes when they looked at her with patience she didn’t feel she deserved.

She couldn’t stand it.

By the sixth night, she’d locked herself in her room without a word.

The water in the shower ran hot and harsh, but it didn’t burn enough to cleanse the ache sitting heavy in her chest. Afterward, she towel-dried her hair, the lavender strands clinging to her skin, her reflection in the mirror more stranger than soldier. Her arms were covered — always covered — but she knew what lay beneath.

The patterns had grown again. Not wildly, but enough to notice. More lines. More marks. More him.

She stepped out onto the balcony barefoot, hoodie zipped up, hair damp around her shoulders. The city stretched below — loud, pulsing with life, uncaring of what weighed on her.

And then the tears came.

She didn’t sob. She didn’t collapse.

She just stood there, staring out, silent as the wind swept past her, brushing cold against her skin.

Her face was wet before she realized she was crying.

Pathetic, her mind whispered.
Broken.
Slowing them down. Always slowing them down.
They deserve better.

She pressed the heel of her palm to her eyes, trying to will it away. Trying to breathe.

And then—

A sound. Soft. Behind her.

Footsteps.

She turned sharply, thinking maybe Mira, maybe Zoey—
But no.

He was there.

Materializing from the shadows just outside the glass door.

Jinu.

Dark jacket. Hood down. Eyes catching the moonlight.

A black card between his fingers.

He froze when he saw her.

“…Rumi?”

Her heart stopped.

She hadn’t expected anyone. Least of all him.

She wiped at her face quickly, too late, stepping back half a step like she could retreat into the brick.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, voice rough, not quite steady.

He blinked once, the card vanishing from his fingers like smoke. “I was— I always put the marker up here. It's neutral ground, remember?”

She didn’t answer.

Jinu took a careful step forward, sensing it — the break in her.

Her silence, her trembling fingers.

The way she looked cracked open in the moonlight.

“…you’re crying,” he said quietly.

“No,” she snapped.

But her voice cracked, and that betrayed everything.

She turned away fast, facing the railing again, arms folded tight. “Just—go. Please.”

He didn’t move.

“I said go,” she said again, voice lower now. Shakier.

But he stepped closer anyway, voice gentler than she remembered it ever being.

“Rumi,” he said, “what happened?”

She laughed once, dry and bitter. “You mean aside from failing at the only thing that matters? Again and again? Aside from dragging down the only people who still trust me? Aside from this—” she gestured to her sleeve, her whole self, “—getting worse every single night?”

He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t fill the silence.

She sucked in a shaky breath. “I don’t need a lecture, Jinu. Or pity. I just… I need space.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Not a sound, not a breath. The wind moved between them, soft and quiet, brushing her hair against her cheek like the world itself was trying to be gentle.

And then his hand lifted—slow, uncertain.

She didn’t flinch when his fingers brushed her face.

It was only when his thumb moved across her cheek, wiping away the tear he hadn’t meant to touch, that he seemed to realize what he was doing.

His eyes flickered, stunned by his own softness.

But he didn’t pull away.

“Don’t cry, Rumi,” he said quietly.

The words left him before he could filter them. Honest. Raw. Too close.

She blinked up at him, lashes still wet, lips parted like she was caught between a breath and a word.

Jinu swallowed hard, his thumb still resting lightly on her cheek, as if afraid that moving too fast would shatter the moment—or her.

He didn’t like seeing her like this.

Crumbling.

Hurting.

He didn’t like that the strongest person he’d ever met was the one standing here, breaking in silence while the world kept expecting her to fix it.

It tugged at something in his chest—something buried beneath layers of orders and missions and centuries of hardened instinct.

For one flickering second, he forgot about Gwi-Ma.
Forgot about the honmoon.
Forgot about the black card burning faintly in his pocket.

There was only her.

Only Rumi, standing in the moonlight, hoodie too big, hair damp and curling at the edges, tear tracks on her face and magic flickering uncertain under her skin.

She looked at him like she didn’t know whether to run or fall.

He didn’t step away.

He didn’t say anything else.

He just let his hand fall slowly from her cheek.

But that look stayed in his eyes.

Like she was the only thing that felt real anymore.

Then—he cleared his throat. Quick. Awkward. Like the weight of the moment had finally caught up to him and he didn’t know what the hell to do with it.

Rumi blinked fast, snapping out of whatever haze she’d been frozen in. She stepped back a little, arms crossing again, eyes flicking to the side like maybe if she didn’t look directly at him, the air between them would settle.

It didn’t. Not right away.

He was the one who broke it. His eyes drifted to her hair, brows raising slightly. “Your hair’s down.”

Rumi glanced up, then down at herself, like she’d only just remembered she wasn’t braided up and combat-ready for once. “Yeah,” she muttered, tugging the ends forward like a shield. “Didn’t feel like tying it.”

He blinked, still staring for a beat too long. “It’s… longer than I thought.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What, you got a checklist somewhere?”

Jinu shrugged, a crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I mean, I notice things.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Occasionally. Like how you always wear black hoodies even when it’s eighty degrees. Or how you fake snore when you want someone to stop talking.”

“That happened once.”

“And it was very convincing,” he deadpanned.

She huffed a laugh, the weight on her shoulders easing just a little. “You’re observant. I’ll give you that.”

He tilted his head. “And yet I didn’t know your hair could do this.”

“This?” she echoed.

“You know,” he gestured vaguely, “look like a tragic princess from a cursed fairytale.”

Her jaw dropped slightly. “Was that supposed to be an insult?”

“I thought it sounded romantic.”

“Romantic?! You called me tragic.”

“Tragically powerful. Tragic in a cool, ominous way.”

“God, you’re terrible at compliments.”

“I try my best,” he said, eyes glinting now.

Rumi rolled her eyes, but she was smiling despite herself.

And just like that, the night softened.

The ache in her chest dulled, and the burning behind her eyes faded. They didn’t talk about the tears. Or the flickering magic. Or how his thumb had felt against her cheek.

They didn’t want to.

Not yet.

The moment had cracked open something between them, but neither reached for it. Not now. Not with everything unspoken still hanging in the air.

So Rumi leaned her elbows on the balcony, watching the neon lights flicker far below, and asked, casually—too casually, “So… what were you doing here anyway?”

Jinu didn’t even blink.

“Same thing I always do,” he said smoothly. “Came to drop the card. Check the perimeter. Standard stuff.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “At 9 p.m.? When you knew I’d be here?”

He shrugged like it meant nothing. “I wanted to see if you put one too. You know, in case you were trying to meet up. Strategically.”

Her brow arched. “Strategically.”

“Obviously,” he said. “Strictly professional stalking.”

Rumi snorted. “You’re such a bad liar.”

He smiled, easy and lazy. “You’re just a suspicious person.”

And she let it go. For now.

But inside him—buried beneath the smile, beneath the practiced calm, beneath the smooth delivery—something twisted.

A quiet, echoing crack.

Because it was a lie.

He hadn’t come just to leave a card. That had been the excuse. The mask.

The real reason?

He’d needed to make sure the honmoon hadn’t fractured further. That Rumi hadn’t grown strong enough to push past it. That Gwi-Ma’s hold on the barrier wasn’t slipping. He was supposed to be tracking weakness. Vulnerability. Her.

But when he’d seen her on the balcony, broken open and real, none of that had mattered.

And now, with her standing beside him, still trusting him, still offering him a place in this fragile quiet—

That part of him he thought he’d locked away with the bracelet stirred.

Guilt.

The worst kind.

The kind that looked like her.

The kind that knew she deserved more than a lie.

But he said nothing.

Just stood beside her, watching the lights, playing the part.

Because the mission mattered.
Because the lord was watching.
Because if he let himself choose her…

He didn’t know what kind of monster that would make him.

Chapter Text

The night had settled around them like a blanket — quiet, cool, humming faintly with the kind of magic that only stirred when the world wasn’t watching.

Rumi hadn’t said anything for a while. She was just staring at the skyline, her fingers playing absently with the edge of her hoodie sleeve. But her mind… it was racing.

She glanced sideways at him. “You teleported here, right?”

Jinu didn’t look surprised. “Yeah.”

“With a snap of your fingers?”

He smirked. “It’s a little more complicated than that, but yeah. That’s the short version.”

Rumi paused, chewing her bottom lip. “Do you think… I could do that too?”

He turned to face her fully now, curiosity flickering behind his dark eyes. “You want to try?”

“I said wondered, not wanted.” She shrugged quickly, folding her arms again. “I’m just… I mean. I’m half demon, right? Shouldn’t I know what that means? What I’m actually capable of?”

He tilted his head, smile tugging lazily at the corner of his mouth. “So you’re accepting who you are?”

She snorted. “I’m just curious about powers, Jinu. That doesn’t make me one of… those.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean one of us?”

“You know what I mean.”

He did. But the tension between them didn’t rise. Not this time.

Instead, Jinu held out a hand, palm up, casual. “Then come on, princess. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Princess? She thought. But didn't say anything.

Rumi narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious. “If I blow up the building, it’s your fault.”

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first.”

They stepped back from the edge of the balcony, Jinu rolling his shoulders as he stood beside her, his own magic already rippling faintly beneath his skin. Rumi closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself feel it.

The way her chest buzzed softly when she reached for it — like her magic was asleep, but stirring.

“Teleportation’s not about force,” Jinu said quietly. “It’s about intention. Knowing exactly where you want to be. Wanting it hard enough to drag the world with you.”

“That’s dramatic.”

He smirked. “I’m four hundred years old. I’ve earned it.”

Rumi focused, brows furrowed. She pictured the rooftop training ring — the sigils, the cracked floor, the still air up top. She pictured standing in the center of it.

Felt that buzzing again.

Then snapped her fingers.

Nothing.

Not even a spark.

She groaned. “Okay. So I suck at this.”

“No, you’re just thinking too much,” Jinu said. He stepped closer, gently nudging her elbow. “Again. Don’t think. Want.”

So she tried again.

This time, she didn’t picture it.
She felt it.
The shape of the place. The warmth of the air. The spot where she’d stood just days ago trying to summon light out of stone.

She snapped again—

And vanished.

Jinu blinked.

She reappeared six feet away, hair wind-tousled, knees bent slightly like she’d landed on instinct.

Eyes wide.

Mouth open.

“Holy shit,” she whispered.

Jinu grinned. “You did it.”

She looked at her hands, then at him, then back at her hands. “I did it?”

“You did.”

“Okay. Okay. That was actually kind of… awesome.”

Rumi was still wide-eyed, slightly breathless. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and her fingertips buzzed with the faint echo of magic. Her heart hadn’t stopped racing — not from fear, but from possibility.

Jinu watched her with a strange look. Something quiet. Something proud.

“Wanna go somewhere cooler?” he asked.

She blinked. “Cooler than my own rooftop?”

He gave her a lazy grin, already stepping closer. “Much.”

And before she could say anything else, he grabbed her hand.

The moment his fingers curled around hers, the world dropped out.

No warning. No countdown. Just snap—

And then:

Silence.

The scent of earth.

The sound of wind threading through stone.

They reappeared high above a cliff, standing on a narrow ledge that overlooked an expanse of shadowed jungle — and in the middle of it, crumbling and half-devoured by trees, were the temples.

Ancient hunter temples. Long abandoned. Long forgotten.
Unless you were a demon who remembered.

Rumi stepped forward slowly, breath caught in her throat. “What is this place?”

“Neutral territory,” Jinu said. “Sort of. It’s protected by old magic. No one really comes here anymore. Not demons. Not hunters. It’s… outside the war.”

The stone under her feet pulsed faintly — not threatening, but watchful. Rumi could feel it. Like the place itself was alive, and aware of her.

She looked down at her hand — still holding his — and let go quickly.

Jinu, to his credit, said nothing.

They walked slowly through the temple ruins, the night air thick with memory. Rumi’s eyes were wide, scanning the worn markings on the stone walls, the broken statues, the overgrown paths where hunters once stood guard.

Her magic flickered beneath her skin, almost… calm here.

“Try again,” Jinu said gently, as they stepped into what must’ve been a courtyard once, vines now hanging from collapsed archways. “Feel where you want to be. Let the magic follow.”

She took a breath. Stepped into the center of the overgrown stone ring.

Closed her eyes.

This time, she didn’t overthink it.

She snapped her fingers.

Flash.

She reappeared ten feet away, standing on a fallen pillar, slightly off balance — but grinning like a lunatic.

“Yes!” she shouted. “I did it again!”

“Two for two,” Jinu called, hands in his pockets, that amused look still in his eyes. “Should I be worried?”

She tried again. Another jump. Smoother now. A clean snap. A short-distance blink.

Then another — this time behind him.

“Boo,” she whispered.

He didn’t jump. “Impressive.”

She leaned close, mock-whispering like it was some grand secret. “Told you I was getting the hang of it.”

Jinu turned his head slightly, eyes meeting hers, just inches apart. “You’re more than getting the hang of it.”

Her smile faltered slightly. Not because of doubt. But because of how he said it.

He meant it.

She could hear it.

They both looked away a second later — too much weight in that glance.

She cleared her throat. “So… what other powers can I unlock out here?”

Jinu smirked. “That depends.”

“On what?”

He glanced at her sideways. “On how long you plan on trusting me.”

Rumi paused. Then gave him the smallest nod.

“Just tonight,” she said.

And together, in the ruins of what once was, they disappeared again —
Snapping into magic, into air,
Into a piece of the world untouched by war.

They were sitting on the ledge now, feet dangling over the edge of the ancient stone balcony that overlooked the trees. The night had settled deep, draping everything in a soft, silvery haze. The jungle below buzzed quietly with life, but up here — it was still. Peaceful in a way Rumi hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Her body ached pleasantly from the magic jumps, her hoodie was slightly damp with sweat, and her hair stuck to her neck, but she didn’t care.

She tilted her head back, eyes lifting to the sky.

It was clear.

Endless, deep, dark blue — stars scattered across it like someone had tossed glitter onto velvet. And the moon — the actual one, not the honmoon — hung huge and pale and glowing just above the trees.

“God,” she breathed. “It’s really pretty here.”

“Yeah,” Jinu said.

But he wasn’t looking at the sky.

She glanced sideways and caught him — the way his gaze lingered on her, soft around the edges. Not intense. Not burning. Just… steady. Real.

She blinked at him. “You weren’t even looking.”

He smirked. “I was.”

“At me.”

“Still counts.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the heat creeping up her neck. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re glowing,” he said without thinking.

Rumi blinked. “What?”

He hesitated. Then gestured, almost sheepishly, at her arm.

She looked down.

The patterns on her forearm — the ones she always kept hidden — were faintly visible now, through the slightly sheer fabric of her sleeve. Glowing the softest gold-white.

Not demonic red.

Not hunter silver.

Something… in between.

Her breath caught.

“I think the honmoon’s reacting to you again,” Jinu said quietly. “That’s new.”

She flexed her fingers slowly, watching the light flicker. “It’s warm.”

“That’s you,” he said. “That’s your magic. Not mine. Not theirs.”

Rumi stared at it. At her.

Something heavy twisted in her chest — and for once, it wasn’t shame.

It was recognition.

Of herself. Of power that didn’t belong to either side.

She was more than half.
She was whole.

And she didn’t know what to say.

So she didn’t.

She just sat there, her glowing arm resting beside his, starlight painting their silhouettes in soft silver.

They didn’t talk. Not for a while.

They didn’t need to.

Because for the first time in weeks — maybe ever —
Rumi wasn’t thinking about being a monster.

And Jinu wasn’t thinking about betraying her.

They were just… there.
Two tired, magic-wired souls
on a ledge above the world,
pretending nothing was broken yet.

Chapter Text

With a soft snap of magic, the night-slick air of the jungle gave way to the familiar chill of city wind.

They were back.

The balcony of her penthouse was still, moonlight spilling onto the railing, a faint hum of traffic below like the world hadn’t noticed they were gone at all.

But Rumi had changed.

She felt it in her skin — in the lingering warmth along her arms, in the steadiness of her breath, in the quiet way her powers didn’t feel like a curse for once.

Jinu stepped back from her slightly, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve, already shifting back into that too-casual version of himself. “Alright,” he said, voice low and unreadable. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He was turning — not rushing, but ready to disappear the second her eyes left him.

And maybe on any other day, she would’ve let him.

But her voice stopped him, soft and almost too small to hear.

“Hey.”

He paused. Looked over his shoulder.

She was standing just where they landed, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the rooftop across the street like she couldn’t quite look at him directly.

“Thanks,” she said.

Jinu tilted his head. “For what?”

She hesitated. Then breathed in.

“For today,” she said quietly. “I was… not doing great.”

Her voice was thin, like it might crack if she pushed too hard.

“I hated myself today. A lot.” She shrugged a little. “Thought I was the problem again. I mean, I always do. But tonight… I don’t know. You showed up. You didn’t push. You let me try things. And now I don’t feel like I’m falling apart.”

She finally looked at him then.

And he wasn’t smiling.

He was just watching her — still, quiet, something unspoken moving behind his eyes.

And for the first time since she met him, he didn’t hide behind a smirk or a joke or a distant look.

He just nodded. Once.

“You’re not the problem,” he said. “Not even close.”

Rumi looked down at her hand, still faintly warm from teleporting. Her fingers curled.

“I don’t say thank you to demons often,” she mumbled.

Jinu’s mouth twitched slightly. “You say it well.”

She rolled her eyes — but not in a mean way.

He turned again, slower this time, fading back toward the edge of the balcony.

“Goodnight, Rumi,” he said.

Chapter Text

The glow of teleportation faded, and the ancient air of the underground chamber swallowed Jinu whole.

Back beneath the ruins of the city, in the cold, fire-lit room carved from obsidian and bone, the four others were already waiting.

As Jinu materialized, all eyes turned to him.

“So?” Ye-sung asked, stretching. “How’s our favorite half-human project doing?”

Jinu didn’t even look at him. His voice cut through the room like a blade.

“Call her that again,” he said coldly, “and I’ll rip your tongue out and make you eat it.”

The air shifted.

Jinu pulled off his coat, tossed it aside, and stepped into the center of the room like a storm contained in skin. “She’s still weak,” he said. “The honmoon’s not getting gold anytime soon.”

Hyun-woo raised an eyebrow. “Is that your expert opinion? Or hers?”

Jinu didn’t look at him. “Both.”

He moved to the edge of the table, dragging his fingers across the glowing red veins of the map — the cracks in the honmoon barrier pulsing like old wounds.

“Now move your asses,” he snapped, voice sharp, “and get to damn work.”

There was a pause.

Then—

“Someone’s touchy tonight,” Hyun-woo muttered, pushing off the wall.

“Mm, touchy and tense,” Ye-sung added, grinning. “Must’ve been a deep conversation. Did she cry again? You have that effect on women, Jinu. Or was it a moment—”

“Ye-sung,” Jinu said, low.

The grin didn’t fade. “No, but really. What do you even talk about with her? Magic? Strategy? How tragic it is to be half-blooded and moody on balconies?”

Kang-dae didn’t even look up from his scroll. He just flicked two fingers and a black thread of shadow shot across the room and smacked Ye-sung in the back of the head.

“Shut up, idiot,” he muttered.

Ye-sung yelped. “Ow! Okay! Fine. I’m just saying—”

Su-bin exhaled like he was already tired of all of them. “You say too much.”

“Thank you,” Jinu muttered under his breath.

Hyun-woo watched him carefully. “So. She’s weak. But not broken.”

“Not yet,” Jinu said.

“But getting stronger?”

Jinu’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer.

The silence was answer enough.

Su-bin leaned forward. “You sure you’re not getting too close?”

Jinu’s eyes met his. Sharp. Cold. “You sure you’re not wasting my time?”

The air dropped several degrees.

And just like that, the room went still again.

They all respected Jinu.
They all followed him.
But none of them forgot what he was — or what he’d done to earn that fear.

Kang-dae finally rolled up his scroll. “We’ll keep the pressure on. Feed the cracks.”

Ye-sung, still rubbing his head, muttered, “Yeah, yeah. Anything to keep our fearless leader from throwing a tantrum.”

“Ye-sung,” Kang-dae said sharply.

“What?”

A glare.

Ye-sung held up his hands. “Fine. I’ll shut up. No need to throw more spooky spaghetti at me.”

Su-bin snorted. “Spaghetti?”

“Whatever. You know your shadows look like creepy noodles.”

Jinu walked past all of them, heading deeper into the chamber, toward the private corridor carved into the stone.

He didn’t turn around, didn’t speak again.

But in his pocket,
he still carried the bracelet.

Chapter Text

The sunlight creeping through the curtains was soft and golden, brushing over the edges of Rumi’s sheets like it was trying not to wake her too harshly.

She stirred slowly, blinking against the warmth. Her limbs were heavy, her hair a mess of purple strands around her face, and for a few precious seconds — everything felt quiet. Still.

But then—
Knock. Knock.

The sound echoed through her room, light but firm.

She sat up fast. Her heart stuttered once in her chest.

A second knock followed.

She scrambled for the oversized hoodie draped across her desk chair, tugging it on in one motion, sleeves covering the faint, traitorous glow still lingering on her arms. The patterns always faded overnight… but not completely.

She padded barefoot to the door and opened it halfway.

Zoey and Mira stood there.

Zoey had a warm mug in one hand and a tired smile on her face. Mira had her arms crossed, lips pressed into a line — her version of concern.

“You okay?” Zoey asked gently.

Rumi hesitated. Then pulled the door open wider.

“Yeah,” she said, voice a little hoarse. “I’m okay.”

There was a silence that followed, but not the awkward kind.

Just a soft, familiar quiet between girls who had survived more than most.

Zoey held the mug out. “Brought you tea. It’s your weird blend. The one that smells like dirt and magic.”

Rumi smiled faintly and took it. “Thanks.”

Mira leaned her shoulder against the doorframe. “We were gonna make breakfast,” she said. “Not the instant kind. Like… actual food. With, you know, pans.”

Rumi arched an eyebrow. “You cooking?”

Mira snorted. “I supervise.”

Zoey nudged her. “She burns eggs.”

“Shut up.”

That made Rumi laugh — a real one. Small, but there.

She stepped aside. “Come in.”

They walked in without question, like they always had. Mira glanced around the room with a half-raised brow at the towel still thrown across the chair and the open balcony door. Zoey flopped onto the bed like she owned it.

Rumi took a sip of tea.

Warm. Earthy. Calming.

“You slept late,” Zoey said gently.

“Yeah,” Rumi said. “I needed it.”

Mira gave her a look, but it wasn’t sharp this time. Just thoughtful.

“Your powers okay today?” she asked after a moment.

Rumi paused, fingers tightening slightly on the mug.

“They’re… settling,” she said.

Neither girl pushed.

They didn’t ask why she’d locked her door last night. Or why her eyes looked a little red. 

But Zoey reached for her hand anyway.

And Mira leaned her head against Rumi’s shoulder for a second, then immediately scoffed and pulled back like it didn’t happen.

“Come on,” Mira said, rolling her eyes. “Let’s go ruin a kitchen.”

Rumi stood up, hoodie sleeves falling over her hands. 

“Alright, but if one of you burns down the kitchen, I’m not helping hide the body. Again.”

Zoey smirked. “You say that every time, and yet—who was the one scrubbing blood off the ceiling last month?”

“That was tomato sauce,” Mira grumbled. “And I was following your recipe, chef crying-in-the-pantry.”

“Oh, please,” Zoey fired back. “You nearly set the pan on fire trying to toast bread.”

“I like it crispy!” Mira snapped, already stomping toward the kitchen.

Rumi just shook her head and followed, sipping her tea. “This is what I get for surviving another demon ambush. Breakfast with toddlers.”

But despite the bickering, despite the burnt toast and suspiciously uneven pancakes — it felt good.

The kitchen, cluttered and sunlit, echoed with half-laughed threats and sarcastic banter. Zoey danced around in mismatched socks, flipping an egg with way too much flair. Mira rolled her eyes so hard she nearly gave herself whiplash but still passed Zoey the spices without being asked.

And Rumi?

She leaned against the counter, finally letting herself enjoy it. The rhythm. The routine. The mess.

Zoey was mid-ramble about pancakes versus waffles, Mira had just insulted both of their taste in music, and Rumi — she was smiling.

Until the air shifted.

It was subtle at first — the way the light dimmed slightly, the hum of magic tightening in her chest, the sudden silence from the apartment wards.

They all felt it at the same time.

Rumi froze. Zoey dropped her cup. Mira’s eyes went cold.

The energy was wrong.

They didn’t stop to think. Didn’t need to.

Weapons appeared like instinct — Zoey’s twin blades flashing into her hands, Mira’s gold-etched spear igniting in a whip of heat, and Rumi’s sword manifesting with a soft snap, humming with her magic.

They turned together toward the living room.

And there they were.
All five of them.

Jinu.
Su-bin.
Kang-dae.
Hyun-woo.
Ye-sung.

Standing in the center of their home like they’d been invited.

Ye-sung was the first to speak, casually flipping through the photo frame on the coffee table like he wasn’t seconds from being impaled.

“This is cute,” he said. “You guys label your mugs too?”

The girls didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Weapons raised.

The tension was thick. Electric.

Mira didn’t hesitate — she lunged first, straight at Hyun-woo and Kang-dae, spear blazing.

But they were demons.
Teleportation was second nature.

With twin snaps of magic, they vanished and reappeared on the other side of the room, lounging like nothing had happened.

“Easy, darling,” Hyun-woo said with a lazy smirk. “We’re not here to fight.”

Kang-dae leaned against the bookshelf, arms crossed. “Yet.”

Zoey narrowed her eyes. “Get. Out.”

Su-bin tilted his head. “Not very hospitable, considering we didn’t kill your neighbors.”

“Yet,” Ye-sung echoed, still smiling.

Rumi hadn’t said a word.

Her sword was steady in her grip, her stance unshaken — but her eyes were locked on Jinu.

He wasn’t smirking.

He wasn’t standing like the others.

He looked… unreadable.

Like he didn’t want to be here.

Like he hadn’t known he would be.

And maybe she didn’t know what that meant —
but Rumi felt it.

Felt it like static in her skin.

Whatever had happened last night — the way he’d held her gaze like it steadied something in him, the way his voice had softened just for her — that was something else.

This was something else entirely.

This felt wrong.

Cold.
Calculated.
Crowded.

Rumi raised her sword, its edge shimmering with pale heat. “What are you doing here?” she asked, voice sharp. “You have five seconds to answer before I put this through one of your lungs.”

She wasn’t bluffing.

Zoey and Mira stepped with her, shoulder to shoulder. Weapons up. Magic thrumming.

And if no one spoke—
they’d strike first.

Su-bin didn’t flinch.
Didn’t even blink.

“We’re here to kill you,” he said calmly.

The words landed like a slap.

Zoey snarled. Mira stepped forward, and her spear flared bright enough to throw shadows across the wall.

But it was Rumi who spoke first.

“Wow,” she snapped. “You’ve got some real nerve.”

Her voice cracked through the tension like lightning — loud enough to make Ye-sung whistle low under his breath.

“Technically,” he said, “it’s not a bad plan—”

“Shut up,” Jinu said.

The tone made even Ye-sung pause.

Rumi’s eyes snapped to him.
His face hadn’t changed.
Still quiet. Still still.

But she knew.

The Jinu standing here — in her apartment, surrounded by his kind — wasn’t the one from the balcony.

Not the one who wiped her tears with his thumb.
Not the one who made her laugh somewhere over temple ruins.
Not the one who looked at her like she was the only thing still human in a war full of monsters.

This Jinu was all armor.

And it pissed her off.

Because fuck it — she was still reeling from last night. From the softness. From the way she hadn’t slept alone in her thoughts for once.

And now he was here like this. Like it hadn’t happened.

Like it hadn’t mattered.

Her fingers tightened on her hilt.

She didn’t say his name.
Didn’t have to.

Because his eyes flicked to hers for a split second — and she saw it.

The guilt.
The hesitation.
The truth.

He remembered.

But he wouldn’t say it.
Not in front of them.

Mira stepped forward again. “Let me kill Kang-dae,” she muttered to Zoey. “Just once. For the cultural reset.”

Kang-dae smirked. “Try it, sweetheart. You’ll die impressed.”

“Okay,” Zoey said, blades out. “Seriously. We’re not doing this standoff bullshit. You broke into our home. That means we get to maim you legally.”

But no one moved.
No one dared.

Because the real tension wasn’t between Mira and Hyun-woo.
Wasn’t between Su-bin and Zoey.

It was between her and him.

Between Rumi and Jinu.

Who stood on opposite sides of a war —
but had just shared a night no one else in the room would ever understand.

The rawness. The quiet. The way her voice had cracked when she said thank you.

None of them knew.

Not Mira. Not Zoey.

And definitely not the four demons who had no idea
that Jinu — cold, brutal Jinu —
was starting to fall for the very girl
he was supposed to destroy.

Chapter Text

The tension was a blade — stretched taut between them, ready to snap.

Weapons hummed. Magic simmered.
Eyes locked.

And then—

Ye-sung clapped his hands once, loud and bored.
“Alright. Are we gonna fight or what?”

Everyone turned to him.

Su-bin gave him a slow, you absolute dumbass side-eye.

Ye-sung shrugged. “I’m just saying. All this standing around with glowy swords and flaming spears and no one actually stabbing anyone? Kinda dramatic. You guys practicing a stage play or—”

Kang-dae smacked the back of his head.

“Ow.”

Zoey stepped forward half a pace, both blades raised. “I’ll start it. Gladly.”

“Same,” Mira snapped, tightening her grip on the spear. “Pick one, Zo. I’ve got dibs on muscle-boy and the smug one.”

“Be more specific. I’m both those things,” Kang-dae muttered.

And then Rumi moved.

Fast as breath, bright as fire.

Her sword ignited mid-air as she lunged straight at Jinu — no hesitation, no holding back.

Steel met steel, their blades clashing with a metallic screech that cracked through the tension. Jinu barely blocked in time, the force of her swing knocking him a step back.

Her eyes blazed.

"Rumi, what the fuck?" he asked.

“What the fuck was last night?” she asked, voice cracking, furious.

Jinu said as he parried, “This has nothing to do with last night—”

“Bullshit!” she roared, swinging again — low, precise, and deadly.

Their fight broke off from the others, drawing them toward the far end of the apartment, near the balcony doors. Each strike was wild and sharp, the kind born from something deeper than strategy. Her fury. His conflict.

Meanwhile—

Ye-sung and Su-bin darted toward Zoey, twin whirlwinds of movement and grins.

“Ladies first?” Ye-sung offered, barely dodging a clean slice aimed for his throat.

Zoey didn’t respond — her blades did.

One grazed Su-bin’s cheek. The other nearly embedded itself in Ye-sung’s arm.

“Ow—okay, she’s spicy,” Su-bin said as he ducked.

“She's trying to kill us,” Ye-sung hissed, eyes glowing.

“Yeah, but like... hotly.”

They didn’t realize Zoey had dropped low until her leg swept under them — Su-bin staggered back, Ye-sung fell straight into a chair.

“Losers,” she snapped.

Across the room, Mira met Kang-dae and Hyun-woo with a wicked grin and her spear twirling in her hands like a threat.

“Come on then,” she said, eyes locked on Kang-dae. “Let’s dance.”

Kang-dae smirked. “You trying to flirt or kill me?”

“Can’t I do both?”

She lunged — gold light trailing behind her like a comet. Hyun-woo blocked her strike, but she twisted, elbowing him in the ribs before driving her spear toward Kang-dae’s chest.

He cursed, teleporting last-second.

Mira didn’t stop. She spun, dragged the edge of her spear across Hyun-woo’s shoulder, and sent him flying into the bookshelf.

“Okay,” Hyun-woo wheezed, climbing to his feet. “She’s more terrifying than your mother.”

“You don’t talk about my mother,” Kang-dae warned.

Meanwhile—

Rumi shoved Jinu back with a growl, her foot slamming into his chest and sending him to the floor.

She was on him in a second, knees pinning his arms, sword raised.

Chest heaving. Braid messy. Her eyes were burning.

He didn’t move.

He just looked at her. Up close. Like nothing else existed.

“You used me,” she spat. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie,” he said quietly. “Not about you.”

“Then what was that last night?” she snapped. “What the hell were you doing on my balcony, Jinu? Pity visit before war?”

“No,” he said, and it was almost a whisper. “I didn’t want you to feel alone.”

Her hand trembled on the hilt.

“Don’t do that,” she said. “Don’t say things that make it harder to hate you.”

“I’m not trying to make you hate me,” he murmured. “I’m telling the truth between this empire of lies.”

Her breath caught.

And for one dangerous second —
the apartment faded away.
The chaos. The yelling. The blades.

It was just them.
Again.

But then—

“Rumi!” Zoey’s voice broke through the moment. “Behind—!”

Too late.

Su-bin surged forward, claws ready — eyes glowing with that familiar hunger, the kind that didn’t care if she was half-human, half-demon, or something in between.

Chapter Text

The silence left behind was almost worse than the fight.

Broken chairs. Cracked walls. Scorch marks on the ceiling. Mira’s favorite coffee mug shattered in the corner.

Zoey looked around at the wreckage, then slowly sat down on what used to be part of their kitchen counter.

“Fuck,” she muttered. “More cleaning.”

Rumi still hadn’t put her sword away.

The air was thick with leftover magic — theirs, and the ghosts of something darker. But all she could hear was the echo of what the fuck are you doing and the way Jinu yanked Su-bin back like it wasn’t even a question.

Like he didn’t care that his team was watching.
Like the only thing that mattered… was her.

She hated the way it made something twist in her chest.

Mira threw her broken spear haft aside and groaned. “We need to put up new wards. Again.”

“Can we do that after we yell about the actual elephant in the room?” Zoey asked, pointing a finger at Rumi from her broken perch. “Because no offense, babe, but what the hell was that?”

Rumi blinked. “What?”

Mira crossed her arms. “You and Jinu.”

No, not me and Jinu, she thought.

Rumi’s stomach dropped.

“What about me and—”

“Don’t play dumb,” Zoey said flatly. “He stopped that other one — the mysterious murdery one — like instinct. Not orders. Instinct.”

“And you weren’t even trying to kill him,” Mira added, narrowing her eyes. “You swung like you were pissed. Not like you wanted him dead.”

Rumi stared at them, hoodie sleeves hiding the way her fists clenched.

“Nothing’s going on,” she said quickly.

Both girls stared.

“Okay,” Zoey said slowly, “now that’s bullshit.”

She leaned forward on the broken countertop, leveling Rumi with a look that was entirely too smug for someone still bleeding. “Do you like him?”

Rumi recoiled like she'd been slapped.

“WHAT? No. Ew.”

Mira raised an eyebrow. “You hesitated.”

“I did not—!”

“You totally did,” Zoey said, eyes sparkling now, the exhaustion from the fight momentarily forgotten. “There was a pause. A full pause.”

Rumi’s voice cracked. “That wasn’t a pause. That was me processing how stupid that question was.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Guys,” Rumi said, flustered now, hoodie sleeves pulled all the way over her hands, “he’s literally one of the enemy.”

“Didn’t stop him from defending you,” Mira said coolly. “Didn’t stop you from not slicing his throat.”

“That’s not the point—”

“That’s exactly the point,” Zoey cut in. “You looked at him like you’d seen a ghost. He looked at you like… like you weren’t just another hunter.”

Rumi grabbed a pillow off the floor and chucked it at her. “Can we not do this right now?”

Zoey ducked. “We’re literally standing in demon-induced wreckage. It’s the perfect time.”

“You two are insufferable.”

“And you,” Mira said, stepping closer and folding her arms, “have a lot more to say than you’re letting on.”

Rumi clenched her jaw. Looked away.

Her voice was quiet this time. “It’s not what you think. He’s not what you think.”

Zoey’s smile faded. Mira’s did too.

And for a second, the teasing disappeared, and what was left… was worry.

“Okay,” Mira said, gently now. “Then tell us what he is.”

Rumi stared at her.

Then at Zoey.
Their faces were open now — no teasing, no raised eyebrows, no sharpness. Just… waiting.

And Rumi?

Her thoughts spiraled.

Am I really doing this?

Am I seriously doing this?

She clenched her jaw, hoodie sleeves twisted around her fingers as if to ground herself. Then she sighed. Loud. Defeated.

She had to do this. 

“Okay,” she muttered. “But don’t judge me, alright?”

Zoey blinked. “Okay.”

Mira narrowed her eyes slightly. “...No promises.”

Rumi glared. Mira held up her hands in surrender.

Rumi took a breath.

And she started.

She told them about the first they met. He left a black card on her balcony, location and time were mentioned. At first, she wasn't going to go, but then she just went there. Told them about the mannequin. Told them how he didn’t attack. How he warned her, then left.

Then after that, he always left those black cards. She didn't go meet him, but then one day, she just went. The bridge. She told them about the bracelet. How an old woman on the street thought they were a couple. How they fought in front of her like idiots. How he kept it anyway.

And then about the night; yesterday, how he showed up on her balcony, completely uninvited. Quiet. Strange. There was no fight. No blood.

Just… her and him and the city.

She skipped over the part where she’d cried.

Mira raised an eyebrow.

“You gave him a bracelet?”

“It was a pity bracelet,” Rumi snapped. “Shut up.”

She told them about the temples. About testing her powers with him. How that made her feel lighter.

“He didn’t try to use me. He didn’t push. He just… let me be.”

She didn’t say the part where his eyes had stayed on her like she was something important. Like maybe he saw a version of her that she didn’t think was possible.

And she definitely didn’t say the part about how he already knew.
That he always had.
That he was the only person who had ever seen the worst part of her — and didn’t flinch.

Because if she told them that…
She’d have to tell them what she was.

And she couldn’t.
Not yet.

“So yeah,” she finished, voice low. “That’s what’s been happening.”

There was a beat of silence.

Zoey, for once, had no joke ready. No grin.
Just a slow exhale.

Mira crossed her arms, but her expression wasn’t angry. Just… conflicted.

“He’s dangerous,” Mira said eventually. “They all are.”

“I know.”

“And you still—?”

“I’m not saying I trust him,” Rumi cut in. “I’m saying I don’t know. But he could’ve let Su-bin kill me tonight. He didn’t.”

Zoey frowned. “And you really think he’s not playing you?”

He could be playing me, she thought.

“I think…” Rumi hesitated. “I think if he was playing me, he’d be doing a better job.”

That got the tiniest laugh out of Zoey. Mira… not so much.

“You’re walking a very sharp edge, Rumi,” Mira said. “You fall, we fall too.”

Rumi looked her dead in the eye.

“I won’t fall.”

Her voice didn’t shake.
It didn’t need to.

She stood straighter, tugging the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands as if anchoring herself there — in the now, with them. No more secrets. Well… not all of them, at least.

“We’re gonna get the honmoon gold,” she said, fierceness building in her tone now. “We’re gonna get these fuckass demons out of the human world—”

“‘Fuckass’ is a strong insult,” Zoey muttered. “Very poetic.”

“—and I’m not gonna stagger,” Rumi finished, glaring at her without much heat.

Mira cracked a smile. The tension finally easing out of her shoulders. “You better not. You fall, we’re dragging your corpse up with us.”

“That’s gross,” Zoey said, making a face. “And oddly sweet.”

Rumi huffed a laugh. “I mean it, though. We’re doing this. Together.”

Zoey grinned. “Good. Because I didn’t survive a demon tackle and a spear to the gut just to lose on the final season.”

“We’re not a show, Zoey,” Mira said with a smir.

“Speak for yourself. I’ve got main character energy.”

That made all three of them laugh — not loud, not long, but real. For the first time in what felt like days.

Zoey held out her hand.

Rumi bumped her fist against it.
Mira followed with a sigh and a grin.

Three fists. One beat.

They stood there, a tangle of bruises and burnt sleeves and half-healed cuts.

And then… they looked around.

The wrecked couch. Broken frames. Half the kitchen chairs in pieces. Demon smoke still curling up from the floorboards.

Rumi was the first to speak.

“...Fuck.”

Zoey groaned. “I forgot we had to clean.”

“I vote we burn the whole place down and move.”

"Dude."

Chapter Text

They reappeared with a thundering crack of pressure — collapsing onto black stone, steam hissing beneath their feet. The underworld's sky was a swirling storm of crimson ash and shadow, thick with the taste of brimstone and burnt iron.

None of them spoke.

Not Ye-sung, who still gripped his head, trembling.

Not Su-bin, whose claws had retracted in silent fear.

Not Kang-dae, who normally had a quip loaded at his lips but now stood pale and quiet.

Not Hyun-woo, who kept his hands clenched at his sides like he could punch his way out of this if he had to.

And not Jinu.

Because they all knew where they were.
And who was watching.

The stone beneath them pulsed with ancient power — veins of molten red crawling like scars. Ahead, the ground split open in a jagged circle. From it rose the thing that ruled them all.

Gwi-Ma.

“You let her live.”

The words weren’t spoken. They erupted — directly into their minds. The flame flared with every syllable.

Jinu lifted his chin. “She’s not the threat yet. And killing her isn't a solution. They'd have more hunters, and the honmoon would be sealed again.”

A flicker of heat slashed across his face — not enough to wound, but enough to warn.

“You lied.”

“She’s not strong enough to change anything. Besides we need to break the bond between those three,” Jinu said, jaw tight. “We’re watching them. Closely.”

“You’re not watching. You’re wavering.”

The temperature rose. The very air felt flammable. Even demons could burn here.

“I’m not—”

“You want her.”

"Do you think she would want you? Have you forgotten who you are, Jinu?"

The voice cracked like fire on bone.

Jinu flinched — but didn’t look away.

Behind him, the other four didn’t dare move.

Ye-sung was sweating. Su-bin’s eyes were fixed on the floor. Kang-dae looked ready to bolt. Even Hyun-woo’s mouth was set in a grim line.

Gwi-Ma’s flames pulsed higher, brighter. The cavern walls trembled.

“She is not one of us. She is not one of them. She is a mistake.”

She is not a mistake, Jinu wanted to say.

Silence.

But he didn't.

Because Gwi-Ma already knew the truth.

The flicker of hesitation.
The unspoken protectiveness.
The way Jinu had chosen her in front of the others.

“I will burn the weakness out of you, Jinu,” Gwi-Ma snarled. “You forget who carved you into existence.”

The flames reached out — spiraling toward him like spears.

He braced himself to be obliterated.

But then… the fire halted.

Crackling. Hovering just inches from his skin.

And then it withdrew.

“You have one chance.”

The flames coiled in, twisting tighter, shrinking slightly — still massive, still furious.

“Or you'll be hearing your sister's screams for all eternity.” 

Chapter Text

The five of them landed hard.

Back in the apartment they’d claimed as their base in the human world — dimly lit, wards stitched into every corner, shadows clinging to the ceilings like cobwebs. The air here was cooler than the underworld, but the heat of Gwi-Ma’s fury still buzzed beneath their skin.

No one spoke for a long moment.

They were reeling. Heads still pounding. Breathing like they'd just survived something ancient and hungry.

Su-bin collapsed into a cracked leather armchair, rubbing his temples. “He nearly burst me into ash.”

Ye-sung flopped on the floor, still trembling. “I saw my entire existence flash before my eyes. It was mostly me looking pretty and getting hit.”

Hyun-woo didn’t say a word. He just stood by the window, arms crossed, staring down at the street like he could slice the world apart with a glance.

Kang-dae paced — restless, jaw locked. “This is getting out of control. He’s getting desperate.”

“No,” Jinu said quietly.

They all looked at him.

He stood near the door, his coat still smoking faintly from the underworld’s fire. Face blank. Eyes colder than usual. All that softness from the night before was gone — boxed up, buried deep under centuries of obedience and fear.

“No desperation,” he said again. “Just correction.”

Kang-dae scoffed. “Correction? He’s threatening to kill us.”

“That'll happen if we fail.”

Jinu walked further into the room, slow, steady. And when he looked at the others, there was something terrifyingly clear in his voice.

“We’ve been wasting time.”

Su-bin sat up straighter. “Wasting time doing what?”

“Letting them strengthen the bond.”

Ye-sung blinked. “You mean, the hunters?”

"Yes."

They knew what he meant.

The three girls — Rumi, Zoey, Mira — had survived not because of luck or skill alone. They’d survived because of each other. They fought like a single force, like they shared a pulse. When one staggered, the other two pulled her up.

That was what made them dangerous.

And that was what needed to break.

“You think we can split them?” Hyun-woo asked.

Jinu turned his head. “I know we can.”

“How?” Su-bin asked, leaning forward, sensing it — that cold, ruthless edge in Jinu’s voice. The kind that meant the plan was already made. That something was about to be set in motion.

Jinu didn’t look at him.

“We do it from the inside.”

The others stilled.

“They trust each other,” he said quietly. “Too much. That’s their strength. It’s also their flaw. So we… let's break it.”

Kang-dae raised an eyebrow. “Physically?”

“No,” Jinu said. “Emotionally. We're going to fracture the bond. We make them question it. And they'll bleed.”

He moved toward the center of the room and dropped the stone on the table. It hit wood like a warning bell — sharp, final.

“Here’s how it works,” Jinu continued. “Firstly, we'll wait. Watch. They’re working to turn the honmoon gold and they're close too. We all feel it. We're going to hold until the day they think they’re going to win. The day they feel like maybe — just maybe — they’ve already won. That’s when we tear it all apart.”

Hyun-woo crossed his arms. “So what’s the plan?”

Jinu’s gaze landed on him. “You and Ye-sung lure Zoey and Mira away. Separate them from Rumi. Doesn’t have to be a fight. Just long enough to leave her alone.”

Ye-sung tilted his head. “And while they’re gone?”

“I send in shifters. Ones who can mirror Mira and Zoey to the last twitch of a muscle. They go to Rumi. Corner her.”

Kang-dae was already nodding, catching on. “They'll make her believe the truth’s out.”

Jinu continued. “They tell her what she’s terrified of hearing. That they know. That they’ve always known. That she’s not human. That she’s something ugly. Something wrong. A monster.”

A silence pressed thick between them.

He went on, voice lower now. “They'll shove her. Corner her. Force her jacket or whatever off to make her look down at herself and see what she’s been trying to hide all this time. The patterns. Her arms. Her neck. Everything.”

He didn’t say it aloud — but the image of her standing there, wide-eyed and shaking, haunted him for a heartbeat.

This will break her, something whispered inside him.
You know that.
She’s already halfway to the edge. You’ll be the reason she falls.

But he locked that voice away. Again. Like he always did.

Su-bin looked up. “And when she figures out something’s off?”

“They’re gone,” Jinu said. “No trace. No scent. Just… silence.”

“And then the real Mira and Zoey return,” Kang-dae muttered.

“They’ll find her like that,” Jinu said. “Patterns out. Defenses down. And no context. They’ll see the truth. And she’ll see their faces.”

“And it won’t matter what they say,” Hyun-woo added. “The damage will be done.”

Ye-sung gave a low whistle. “You’re planning to kill her without touching her.”

Don’t say it like that.

“Timing?” Su-bin asked.

Jinu stepped back. His jaw clenched. “The moment they think the honmoon’s about to turn gold. That’s when we strike. When everything’s at its brightest… we drag it into the dark. That'll be the perfect time to break the honmoon.”

Kang-dae leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, a slow grin creeping up his face. “Now that’s a solid plan.”

Ye-sung gave an impressed low whistle. “Didn’t think you had that kind of poetic evil in you, Jinu.”

Jinu didn’t respond. His gaze was still fixed on the table — on the black stone pulsing faintly, like a heartbeat echoing in a tomb.

Su-bin nodded once. “So when do we start prepping the shifters?”

“Tomorrow,” Jinu said. “No slip-ups. I’ll choose them myself.”

Hyun-woo smirked. “You really think this’ll work? That it’ll actually break her?”

Jinu finally looked up — sharp, steady. “She’s already breaking. We’re just giving the final push.”

And there it was again — that voice, low and tight at the base of his skull.
You’re lying.
You don’t want to hurt her.
There's still time.
Stop this.

He shoved it down again, deeper this time. Buried it under everything else he’d been burying for four hundred years.

“Alright, boss.” Kang-dae stretched, cracking his knuckles. “You say jump, we burn the sky.”

Ye-sung grinned. “And here I was getting bored.”

“Let’s get to work,” he said.

The others nodded and scattered, the room slowly emptying.

Jinu was the last to move.

And as the black stone on the table dimmed to nothing, he felt that voice whisper one last time.

She's going to hate you.

Chapter Text

The wind was still against the lake. Morning sun dripped lazily across the surface, and from a distance, the trio looked like nothing more than girls by the water.

But they weren’t.

Rumi stepped forward first, boots crunching over gravel and moss, eyes fixed on the shimmer just above the earth — that thin, invisible layer only hunters could feel. The Honmoon. A barrier older than time itself, woven by ancestral blood and forged by sacrifice.

It separated this world from what lurked beneath it.

And right now, it pulsed faintly under her palm — waiting.

“Alright,” Mira said, cracking her knuckles. “You said it was sparking again. Let’s see it.”

Rumi nodded once, stepping into the center of the ring they’d etched into the ground. Gold chalk. Salt. Steel-dipped symbols. Zoey had reinforced the lines just before they started.

“I’ve got you,” Zoey said quietly from her left. “If anything flares, I’ll stabilize.”

“Same,” Mira muttered, from her right. “Let’s go.”

Rumi took a slow breath.

Closed her eyes.

Focus. Feel it.
The heat in her veins. The hum of something old and relentless in her chest. The power she’d spent weeks trying to will back into existence — the thing that made her her.

And then—
It came.

The spark.

A golden glow bloomed at her fingertips, flickering like a heartbeat into the sigils around her feet.

“Oh my god,” Zoey breathed.
“It’s back,” Rumi whispered. “It’s actually—”

The air around them rippled. It pulsed with light. Gold, true gold, seeping outward in trembling waves.

The pattern flared — high, rising. For a moment, it was more than a flicker.
It sang.

Mira’s eyes widened, awe slicing through her usual skepticism. “You’re doing it.”

“I’m doing it,” Rumi whispered, staring at her hands. “I’m—”
She faltered. Her knees buckled slightly, but Zoey and Mira both caught her before she hit the ground.

“Easy,” Zoey said. “You don’t have to do it all at once.”

Rumi blinked up at them, still dazed. “But it worked. It really worked.”

Mira was smiling. “Yeah, it did.”

And behind them, the gold settled again — not vanished, not snuffed out… but waiting.

Ready.

The three girls stood together under the rising sun, bruised and breathless, but for the first time in weeks — maybe longer — they had proof.

Hope didn’t have to be a lie.

And the Honmoon?

It was listening again.

Chapter Text

The next few days bled together in warmth and sweat and the steady, golden thrum of progress.

Every morning, they returned to the lake — just beyond the city’s edge, where the world was quieter, softer, and the Honmoon ran close beneath the crust like a heartbeat under skin. It shimmered faintly now, more often than not, a soft gold glow that mirrored the sun above and the determination below.

They were getting closer.

Not just to turning the Honmoon gold.

But to something better.

Something after.

“Okay, but hear me out,” Zoey said, flopping back on the blanket they’d laid out beside the circle. “When this is over—like, actually over—I want a full week of no demon blood, no enchanted weapons, no alarms going off at 3AM.”

“I want to eat until I pass out,” Mira added, biting into a bag of chips with zero grace. “Bathhouse. Hot springs. One of those giant Korean buffets where they don’t kick you out no matter how long you sit there.”

“Karaoke,” Rumi said, smiling around the rim of her water bottle. “You two owe me a round of BoA. And I will duet that Taemin song whether you want to or not.”

Zoey groaned. “Don’t remind me. Your falsetto’s terrifying.”

“Please,” Mira scoffed. “You’re the one who sings like a broken flute.”

“Bold of you to say, warrior bard of the screechy realm,” Zoey shot back.

Rumi laughed — full and loud and real. Her chest ached from it in the best way. And as the two continued bickering like siblings in an ancient play, she leaned back, eyes trailing the sky, where the light filtered through slow, drifting clouds.

She let herself believe it — just for a moment — that they might actually make it.

That the Honmoon could turn gold again. That the barrier could hold. That the world might not end in screams and fire.

That they would live.

She looked toward the ring — the golden shimmer still humming beneath the runes she’d drawn, not as fierce or bright as they needed, but constant. Steady.

Getting there.

“Tomorrow,” Mira said, pointing with her chopsticks, “we double up. I want full pulse channels carved before noon.”

“Fine, but I’m not skipping lunch,” Zoey muttered. “Last time I almost passed out mid incantation.”

Rumi grinned. “Lunch, bathhouse, karaoke, food coma. I’m holding you both to it.”

And as the sun began to set behind the lake, the three of them stayed right there.

Talking. Planning. Living.

It wasn’t peace.

Not yet anyway, but it was going to be.

They were going to be done tomorrow. And there were no dramatics from the demons either. 

Shady.

But they had to keep working, they needed to finish this as soon as possible. 

Chapter Text

Rumi hadn't seen him since that night. Not during the days that followed, not through the endless hours of golden light training or banter or late-night ramen.

Jinu was just... gone.

And it was stupid. Irrational. She shouldn't care.

But gods, she did.

She cared that he hadn’t come back. That he hadn’t stood by the railing again like he always did. That he hadn’t asked if she was okay in that quiet, careful voice. That he hadn’t said anything when her magic surged again. When it mattered.

They were going to turn the Honmoon gold tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

The final push.

And all she could think about was how she wanted him to see it. To trust her. To believe that this world — this balance — was worth saving. That he was worth saving. That he didn’t have to burn with Gwi-Ma for the rest of eternity.

So she did the most rational, deeply unhinged thing she could think of.

She placed the black card on the edge of her balcony.

Just like he used to.

And then, with her hoodie tugged over her head, and her breath caught somewhere between anxiety and hope, she teleported to the old temples. The same ones he’d taken her to that night — ancient and cracked and bathed in moonlight like they were alive.

And then she waited.

She didn’t even realize how tense she was until a tiny noise pulled her from her thoughts.

A meow.

She blinked.

There, sitting on the ledge beside her, was a small, scruffy black-and-white cat. It blinked at her once like well? and then promptly plopped into her lap.

“Oh,” Rumi said softly, startled into a smile. “Well, hello to you too.”

The cat purred like a tiny engine, pressing its head against her hand. She hesitated for half a second, then gave in and scratched behind its ears.

“I was expecting someone else,” she told the cat, sighing. “But hey, you're less emotionally confusing, so this works.”

It meowed again, louder this time — offended, probably.

She chuckled under her breath.

And then she disappeared.

Back to her apartment. Quiet as a shadow. Tip-toeing around the living room where Zoey was starfished on the couch and Mira was snoring softly with her spear across her lap like a teddy bear. Rumi grabbed a few scraps from the fridge — cold chicken, a bit of rice — and teleported back.

“Okay, okay,” she whispered as the cat lunged at the food, “don’t eat my fingers too.”

She stayed there a while.

Just her. And the cat. And the waiting.

The wind was soft tonight, and the stars were out. The temples looked older than time. Like they’d seen everything — wars, peace, demons, love.

Maybe they’d seen this too.

Maybe he’d come.

She hoped he would.

Just come, Jinu, she thought. 

Chapter Text

Jinu stood on her balcony for a long moment after spotting the card.

There it was — carefully placed in the exact spot he always left his. Her handwriting on the back. The time. The place.

His thumb skimmed the ink, slow.

He didn’t know what she wanted.

Or maybe he did.

But he went anyway.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That the plan was already in motion. The shifters were ready. Su-bin had been training them personally. Ye-sung and Hyun-woo had their distractions mapped. Mira and Zoey would be lured. Rumi would be broken open like a sealed vault.

It was all perfect now. Cold. Clean. Calculated.

But still... he came.

He shouldn't have.

The temple grounds were bathed in moonlight when he arrived, his boots silent against the stone. It was quiet, save for the faint wind tugging at the ancient flags above. The same place he’d taken her to not long ago. The same place she’d laughed and grinned like her magic didn’t terrify her.

And there she was.

Sitting cross-legged near the steps, back to him. Her hoodie loose, long purple hair spilling down her back in waves. A small cat was curled against her side, already purring loud enough to challenge gravity.

Jinu stepped forward.

She must’ve sensed it — or maybe she’d always known he’d come.

She didn’t turn around, just said softly, “Oh. Hi.”

He stopped a few feet away. “You have a cat now?”

She finally turned, half a smile tugging at her mouth, though her eyes looked tired. “No. He just found me. Judging me. Probably reports back to Zoey or something.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Spy cat?”

“Exactly,” she said, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “Secret agent, very loyal.”

He stared at her a moment longer. Her hoodie sleeves were too long again. The way she sat — curled inwards, quiet, fighting something — it was so familiar.

And still, she didn’t say anything else right away.

So he did. “You called me here.”

She nodded once. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

Rumi exhaled through her nose. “Because… tomorrow’s it. We think the Honmoon’s going to go gold. We’re so close.” Her voice wavered, but steadied again. “And if it works, we can shut the barriers for good. Keep the demons out. Keep you safe.”

He blinked. “You’re trying to keep me safe?”

“I don’t want Gwi-Ma to burn you alive, Jinu.” She glanced up at him, her eyes dark but sincere. “I don’t want you to end up in pieces.”

He didn’t speak.

Not right away.

Rumi’s words hovered in the air between them — I don’t want you to end up in pieces — and he felt them like heat behind his ribs. He’d been told many things across the centuries. Cursed. Feared. Hunted. But never that.

Never that.

This girl..

She sighed, heavy and quiet, dropping her gaze to her hands.

“Getting mad at you won’t fix anything,” she said, voice low. “It won’t make you stay. Won’t make you choose better. So…”

She glanced up at him again. “Can we just talk? I have a lot to say.”

Jinu hesitated, but then gave the smallest nod.

Rumi pulled her knees in, curling slightly inward like she was trying to brace herself.

“I’ve spent my whole life hiding,” she said. “Covering up the patterns. Keeping my head down. Pretending I belonged in places I didn’t. Because I was told — convinced — that if anyone saw what I was, they’d throw me out like I was some stain. Like I was… something to fear.”

Her voice cracked, just slightly. She hated that.

“And then you happened.”

She let out a breath, not looking at him now.

“You didn’t look at me like I was some kind of broken accident. You didn’t flinch when I slipped. You didn’t back away when I got angry. You showed up again and again, said all this cryptic annoying shit that made me think too much, and—god, it messed me up.”

You messed me up.

Jinu’s lips parted, but she kept going.

“You ruined my ability to lie to myself. That I was fine being alone. That I didn’t need anyone to see me. And now—now I can breathe around you, Jinu. That doesn’t happen. Not with anyone. I don’t have to pretend when I’m with you.”

Her fingers dug into the edge of her hoodie sleeves.

“So when you say things like you’re not good, or you’re dangerous, or that you shouldn’t care… it’s bullshit. Because you are good. Maybe not in the way the world defines it, but you’re—”

She looked at him, finally. Eyes wet, but steady.

“You’re good for me.”

Jinu didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Every wall inside him strained, cracked, screamed to hold.

But something in her voice was unmaking him. Quietly.

“Why does it feel like this?” she asked. “Why does it feel right every time I let you in? Why does it feel like I could tell you anything and not be scared you’d turn it against me?”

The night was still. The sky above them a sea of stars.

And he still hadn’t spoken.

She let out a soft, bitter laugh. “You’re going to tell me this doesn’t mean anything, aren’t you?”

He didn’t look away.

Not from her face. Not from her eyes.

The quiet between them trembled — not heavy this time, not sharp. Just full. Full of everything neither of them had dared to say for too long.

He finally breathed.

And then, softly — like he didn’t trust his own voice not to break — he said:

“I’m not going to tell you it doesn’t mean anything.”

Because how could he? That would be a lie.

She blinked.

Because the way he said it — like it meant everything — did something strange to her heart.

He shifted forward, gaze dropping for the briefest second. His hands clenched at his sides, like the words hurt coming out.

“I’ve watched time pass me by like I wasn’t even in it,” he murmured. “Like I was just… drifting through centuries, losing pieces of myself every step I took.”

She didn’t interrupt. Just listened.

“Hope,” Jinu said, almost like it was a curse, “hope hurts. It hurts so bad. So I buried it. I stopped trying to want anything. Because when I did, it just… reminded me of everything I couldn’t have.”

His jaw tensed, but he kept going.

“But you.” His voice cracked the slightest bit. “You messed me up too, Rumi. Completely. You shattered things in me that I thought were dead. You woke up parts I thought I’d buried for good. And I hated you for it at first. I did.”

He looked at her again.

“Because how dare you look at me like I was human when all I’ve ever been is a shadow? How dare you make me feel something again?”

How dare you..

Her breath caught.

“I’ve lived my whole life trapped between being this fucking imposter and a soul-consuming monster. I’ve worn so many masks I don’t even know what my own face is supposed to be. And inside my head…” He faltered. “Inside my head, it never stops. The screams. The guilt. The things I’ve done. The people I’ve lost.”

He swallowed hard, fingers curling.

“And when those voices point me toward a dead end, when they tell me I have no choice, I follow. Because what else am I supposed to do?”

A beat.

Then quieter.

“But when I’m with you… it’s not as loud.”

Rumi’s heart was pounding now.

“It’s easier,” Jinu whispered. “You make it easier to breathe. To stand still. Nobody looks at me like you do. Nobody sees past the parts I hate about myself the way you do.”

He exhaled, voice breaking for real this time.

“I don’t trust it. I want to. God, I want to.”

He looked at her like she was both sanctuary and storm.

“Why does it feel right every time I let you in?” he said, helpless. “Why does it feel like I could tell you anything and not have it used against me?”

Rumi didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t have to.

It was already written across both of their faces — fragile, fierce, and terribly real.

They were too deep in now.

Too tangled.

Too close to the edge.

The wind curled soft around them. The stars hung like held breath.

And for once—neither of them spoke first out of fear. Neither laughed to ease the silence. Neither ran.

Rumi stepped closer.

Her hair was glowing faintly now in the moonlight, purple and silver threads damp with night air, her face still soft from what he’d said.

She looked at him—truly looked at him. Not like a hunter. Not like someone who might one day have to choose between him and the world.

Just her.

Just him.

Like before.

“I’m not asking for everything,” she said quietly. “I know how hard it is. But… can you trust me?”

He flinched, barely.

And that’s when she held out her hand. Slowly. Open-palmed. Steady.

“Because I think we could fix it,” she went on. “Whatever this is. All of it. Maybe not all at once. Maybe not in time to save everything. But we could try.”

Jinu didn’t breathe.

“What if we stopped running?” she said. “What if we both stopped pretending that we don’t care? We can’t fix anything if we don’t face it. We can’t change if we keep choosing the version of ourselves that hurts the most.”

We need to face it. We need to fight it and escape it.

He was still staring at her hand.

“What if we could heal what’s broken?” she said, a little more softly now. “Together.”

And then, after a pause—so quiet he almost missed it:

“What if we could be free?”

Jinu’s heart thundered.

No one had ever said that word like it was possible before.

No one had ever said “we” like it meant him.

His hand moved before he even realized.

But instead of just taking hers—he grabbed it and pulled her forward, fast, like he was afraid the moment would vanish if he waited too long.

She stumbled into him, hands catching his chest. His head dropped against hers. Breath to breath.

He didn’t kiss her.

Not yet.

But his grip on her hand stayed tight, like a promise he didn’t know how to make with words.

He closed his eyes, forehead to hers.

“I want to,” he whispered. “I want to believe we can be something other than this.”

She squeezed his hand.

“Then stay,” she whispered back.

Jinu exhaled like he was bleeding the truth out of his lungs.

“I’ll help you tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Tell me where you’ll be, what time. I’ll block anything Gwi-Ma sends your way. I’ll keep them off your back.”

Rumi looked up at him, surprised at first. Then her features softened, blooming into a slow, tired smile. The kind that made something ache in his chest.

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it.

And just like that, she trusted him.

“I’ll be with Mira and Zoey at the old hunter temples. It’s the thinnest and the main part, almost gold. We just need time. No distractions. You handle that.”

“Done,” he nodded, even as the lie settled like iron in his throat. Guilt coiled tight in his gut — sharp, slow, seeping like poison.

She turned to go, murmuring something to the cat as she bent down to scoop it up — but it darted away, toward Jinu instead.

She laughed, a quiet huff of breath. “Traitor.”

And when she started walking again, a part of him panicked. That primal, broken part of him that didn’t want to let this girl — this light — walk away without knowing the fire was already set beneath her.

Tell her, his mind screamed. Just tell her.

Tell her what’s coming. Tell her what you’ve done. Tell her before she looks at you like all the others do — like a monster.

“Rumi—” he started.

She turned back slightly, brows raised in a silent yeah?

But the words shattered in his throat.

He blinked.

Then cleared it all with a single breath and forced a grin — the kind he only wore when pretending didn’t feel like dying.

“Weren’t you going to take the cat with you?” he asked instead, scooping the small thing up in his arms and offering it out.

She stared at him for a second longer — just a second — like she knew something inside him had shifted.

But she didn’t push.

She just took the cat from him gently, her fingers grazing his. “Thanks.”

And then she left.

Jinu stood there for a long time, alone under the stars that no longer felt like they belonged to him.

The warmth of her hand still ghosted over his.

The guilt howled louder than ever.

Chapter Text

“It’s tomorrow,” Jinu said. His voice was final.

Su-bin straightened immediately.

“You’re sure?” Hyun-woo asked, eyes narrowing.

“I was with her,” Jinu said, and that earned a look from Kang-dae — not of surprise, but of knowing. “She thinks it’s happening. She’s convinced tomorrow’s the day. They’ll go to the lake. All three of them. They’ll push for gold.”

Ye-sung whistled. “So the fracture’s finally coming.”

“Get ready,” Jinu said, ignoring the twist in his own gut. “We go at dawn. The shifters are already briefed. They’ll take the girls’ faces and wait by the cliff’s edge. Hyun-woo, Ye-sung — you’ll move out early. Lead the others away.”

“They’ll follow,” Hyun-woo nodded.

Kang-dae stood up, slowly cracking his neck. “And the half-blood?”

Jinu didn’t answer right away. He only stared at the flickering embers that drifted along the edges of the room, cast by the remnants of their dark wards.

“She’ll break,” he said at last. “They all will.”

But his voice didn’t sound like victory.

It sounded like something hollow.

Like something already grieving.

The others didn’t notice.

They were already moving, gathering weapons, relighting flames. Preparing.

But Su-bin lingered behind as the others scattered, watching Jinu a moment longer.

“You okay?” he asked, too casually.

Jinu didn’t look at him. “Get some rest.”

Then he walked away, into his room. Where the voices returned louder than before. Where her voice echoed faintly behind them, soft and human:

“I don’t want you to end up in pieces.”

And he told himself — over and over — this was what had to be done.

This is what had to be done. 

He had to do this. 

This would set him free. 

Not her.

Chapter Text

The air was pale with dawn when Rumi opened her eyes.

She didn’t stretch. Didn’t yawn. Just… breathed.

Today was the day.

Her fingers moved on instinct — tugging the black jacket over her shirt, zipping it up high to her neck. She glanced in the mirror, eyes lingering on the places her patterns had spread. Along her collarbones. Down her arms. Creeping like vines carved in starlight. She tugged the sleeves longer.

Her hair, damp from the quick shower, was pulled back into a tight braid. She looked like herself — the version of herself that the others trusted. That the world could still accept.

The quiet helped. There was no hum of city noise yet. No voices. Just the sound of her own pulse.

She stepped into the living room.

Zoey was already by the window, tightening the grip on her boots.

Mira stood beside the kitchen counter, sipping bitter coffee from a chipped mug.

They both looked up.

“You ready?” Mira asked.

Rumi nodded. “Yeah.”

No jokes today. No teasing. Just a mutual, electric understanding.

They all knew what this day meant.

A final shot. A last chance.

The three of them left together — no hesitation, no backward glances. Hunters didn’t look back.

They reached the lake just as the sky bloomed soft with morning color — that hush before light fully took hold. The water stretched glass-still, untouched, save for the shimmer of magic that buzzed faintly above it.

The Honmoon.

An invisible barrier to any normal eye — but to them, it rippled faintly with power, like a second skin over the earth. Almost there. Almost golden.

They stepped into the center of the clearing, where the energy was strongest.

Rumi exhaled, steady and sure. Her palm hovered just over the shimmer in the air. She could feel it already — the hum, the pull, the weight of power calling to her.

Zoey moved beside her, then Mira. They didn’t speak — no need.

Their magic lit through them like fire meeting oil.

And they moved.

Palms out.

Three sets of hands, fingers splayed wide over the shimmer of the honmoon — the thin crackling skin of the world just waiting to turn. Power surged through them. Each beat in sync. Their hearts, their breaths.

They were the last thread between what was and what could be.

It was working.

It was always meant to be the three of them.

And when the light began to pulse beneath their hands — faint at first, then stronger — the world almost held its breath with them. The gold was coming.

But so was the fracture.

And somewhere, hidden beyond the trees, the shifters were already waiting.

The shimmer beneath Rumi’s hands began to glow.

Faint at first. Then brighter. Stronger. Warm.

Golden.

She felt it — a rush of something deep, something old and powerful, something that didn’t just belong to her, but to every hunter that came before her. It surged up from the Honmoon like a heartbeat. One that matched her own.

“Oh god,” she whispered, breath caught in her throat. “It’s working.”

A thrill rushed down her spine.

But then—

A sound. A shift in the wind.

And then came the growls.

Dark shadows emerged from the trees. Dozens of them. Horned. Twisted. Laughing through sharp teeth. Demons — not mindless ones, but organized. Tactical.

Mira reacted first.

“Fucking hell.”

Zoey’s blades were already in her hands, summoned in a flash of blue light. “Rumi. Stay.”

“What?” Rumi turned, wide-eyed.

“We’ve got this,” Mira said, spear snapping into her grip with a pulse of gold. “You keep going.”

“But—”

“Don’t stop, Rumi,” Zoey said over her shoulder. “Get that thing gold.”

Mira gave her a half-smirk. “And don’t screw it up.”

Rumi opened her mouth to say something — anything — but nothing came out except:

“Get back soon, slackets.”

And then they were gone — diving into battle like a storm. Steel clashing. Light against dark. Chaos.

Rumi turned back to the honmoon.

Focused.

Her hands trembled as she pressed them flat again, fingers sinking into the veil of invisible magic. Her breath was shallow, heart pounding — not from fear now, but hope. Real, aching, world-shaking hope.

The gold was blooming beneath her palms.

The glow expanded, blooming outward in wide circles like ripples in a pond. The air shimmered. The ground vibrated.

And Rumi?

She smiled.

A true, radiant, unstoppable smile.

The kind of smile that only came when something broken finally began to heal.

Chapter Text

“Oh, you guys are back,” Rumi said, breathless, a grin still stretched across her face. She didn’t turn around at first — her palms were still pressed to the ground, magic flowing, golden light swirling up around her hands like sunfire. “It’s getting gold now. We’re so close. I can feel it.”

Behind her, footsteps crunched against grass and dirt.

Silent.

Too silent.

She looked up, finally turning — expecting smiles, relief, maybe even a dumb joke from Zoey about ramen or Mira rolling her eyes and saying “About damn time.”

But they just stood there.

Staring.

Zoey’s blades were gone. Mira’s spear, too. Their stances too still. Too stiff.

“Everything okay?” Rumi asked, pushing herself to her feet.

Zoey tilted her head. “Yeah. Just… surprised it’s actually working. You’re actually doing it.”

Rumi blinked. “What?”

Mira stepped forward. Her expression unreadable. “Guess hiding things didn’t slow you down too much, huh?”

Rumi’s smile faltered. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what we’re talking about,” Zoey said, her voice lighter than usual — almost rehearsed. “It’s funny. You act like you’re one of us, but you’ve never really been.”

“What—” Rumi shook her head. “Guys, what the hell is going on?”

Mira stepped even closer, her tone like ice. “We know what you are, Rumi.”

Rumi’s breath caught.

“What…?” she said again, but softer this time. Barely a whisper.

Zoey’s eyes locked on hers. “We know what’s under that jacket.”

Her stomach dropped.

“No,” she said. “No, you don’t understand—”

“Understand what?” Mira said, voice sharper now. “That you’ve been lying to us? Every single day? While we trained, while we fought, while we trusted you?”

Rumi stumbled back, hands slightly raised. “It’s not like that.”

“Then how is it?” Zoey snapped. “Because from where we’re standing… you’ve been pretending to be one of us. When all along, you were something else. Something wrong.”

Mira reached out suddenly — fingers curling into the collar of Rumi’s jacket.

“No—don’t—” Rumi shouted, trying to pull away.

But Mira was faster. Stronger.

She yanked the jacket off her shoulders.

The cold air bit instantly.

The gold in the ground dulled.

And then came more.

A voice — her voice, but twisted — rose in her head: A demon with no feelings doesn’t deserve to live. You’re just pretending to be good. They’ll never love you. They’ll never trust you.

The patterns on her body flared.

Violet vines surged down her arms, up her neck, blooming like wildfire under her skin. They reached the corners of her face. Her legs. Her sides. Her heartbeat was in her throat. Her chest. Her skull.

“No…” she gasped. “Wait—”

The ground tilted.

Her breathing turned shallow, then erratic. She couldn’t pull in air. Couldn’t focus. The honmoon’s glow flickered and dimmed beneath her.

“Rumi?” Fake-Zoey stepped closer. “You're nothing but a mistake.”

And that did it.

The scream tore out of her throat like it had been waiting years to be set free.

She clutched her head, falling to her knees, nails digging into her scalp.

The panic attack hit her like a storm she couldn’t outrun.

And the patterns grew. Uncontainable. Unstoppable. Unforgiving.

Until the girl who stood beneath the honmoon didn’t look like a hunter at all anymore—

But a monster the world had warned her she was.

Rumi ran.

Blindly.

She didn’t even know how her legs were working — her lungs barely were. The world was spinning, the vines on her skin pulsing like they were alive, crawling down her limbs and up her throat, wrapping around her ribs like they meant to break her from the inside out.

She stumbled through the woods, branches slicing across her face, the scream still echoing in her ears — You should’ve died with the rest of them—

“Stop—” she whispered to herself, shaking her head. “Stop, stop, stop—”

And then—

“Rumi?”

She froze.

Her head snapped up.

It was Zoey.

And behind her, Mira.

They stood at the tree line, panting, weapons still in hand from whatever fight they’d just been in.

But the second they laid eyes on her, something shifted.

Rumi’s jacket was gone — she didn’t even remember when she lost it — and the glow of the patterns on her skin was unmistakable under the moonlight. Violet veins, delicate but wild, scrawled across her arms, her neck, up to her cheekbone. Like something blooming out of her. Or devouring her.

She stared at them, chest heaving. “Wait… that wasn’t you guys? Back there—?”

They didn’t answer.

“Oh thank god,” she breathed, laughing once, shaky. “It wasn’t you. I—I thought—” She stepped toward them.

They stepped back.

It was subtle. Barely a motion. But it felt like the earth had cracked beneath her feet.

Rumi stopped.

Zoey’s voice was soft. “You’re… a demon?”

Rumi looked down at herself.

The patterns glowed—violent and alive now—etched across her skin like a curse, like a secret finally screaming. Her breath hitched.

“No…” she whispered. “No, these were supposed to be gone…” Her voice cracked, brittle and small, barely there.

She looked up at them, desperate.

“It’s still me,” she said, stumbling forward a step. “I’m still me. Didn't you see? It was working. The honmoon was turning gold. We are so close. I have a plan—Jinu and I—”

“Jinu?” Zoey cut in, her voice sharp now. Too sharp. “You’re working with him?”

“No! Zoey, no—” Rumi’s hands flew up, trying to grab the moment before it collapsed completely. “I was using him. I—I only pretended to trust him so we could win, so we could get the honmoon gold, I swear—”

“I knew it,” Mira said, and there was something like a shiver in her voice. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

“Mira, no, please.” Rumi’s chest heaved. She stepped forward again, pleading. “You have to believe me. I didn’t mean to lie—I just… I didn’t know if you’d still look at me the same.”

They both took another step back.

No.

No, no, no.

Rumi felt it—like the ground was opening beneath her. The sky falling. She reached out a hand, trembling. “Don’t leave,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me.”

They didn’t say anything.

“I can still fix it,” she said, louder now. “I can still fix it—”

And then her voice fractured.

It deepened, echoed through the trees, split into layers of something inhuman and hurting and breaking.

“I CAN STILL FIX IT!”

A violent pulse surged out of her—red-violet energy rippling through the honmoon like a scream.

The sky shimmered gold for a second—

—and then cracked.

Mira’s grip tightened on her spear, which had already appeared in her hand. Its glow was dimmer than usual, as if unsure.

Zoey… Zoey’s face fell. She didn’t speak. She simply drew both her blades and raised them.

Rumi’s breath stopped. Her lips trembled.

“Zoey,” she said. “Please. It’s still me.”

Zoey sighed, low. Heavy. She lifted her blades just a little higher.

That was enough.

Rumi turned.

And ran.

Branches tore at her skin, the wind howled past her ears, but she didn’t stop.

And behind her both girls looked at her retreating back, lowering their weapons. They never wanted to raise them at her. They never even thought that they would have to raise them at her. 

Life throws shit at you, huh?