Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Celine, do hunters kill all demons?”

“Yes.”

“So everything that has patterns?”

Rumi pulled her shirt sleeve up, looking at the jagged marks that had been there as long as she could remember. She really wanted to ask: What about me? But she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be thinking like that.

“Cover those up.” Celine’s words sliced through her like a sword, her hand swiped between Rumi’s hand and her shirt sleeve. The sleeve fell back down, covering up the marks.

“You only have those because—”

“My dad was a demon?”

“You’re not one of them, Rumi. You’re a hunter. Just like your mother was.”

But it doesn’t make sense… Is what Rumi wanted to say. If hunters killed demons, and anything that has patterns is a demon, how could she not be one?

But Celine said so, so Rumi had to accept this. I’m not a demon. My father gave me patterns, I’m not a demon. I’m a human. A hunter. Rumi, the hunter. She tried to have it click in her mind, shoving down the part of her that tried to protest.

I’m human.

“When the Honmoon is sealed, all the demons will be gone from this world, and so will your patterns.”

Really?

“So… these will be gone?” A fire sparked to life within her. A hopeful blaze that—just maybe—she’d never need to hide again. Is it really that easy? She saw the look on Celine’s face whenever her patterns showed. The hatred, the fear. “Cover those up!” would always follow, like if the light was on them too long, they would consume her.

Rumi wasn’t stupid. She knew that the patterns were bad even before she’d learned what they were. And despite her best efforts to shove down her worries, and just believe Celine wholeheartedly, she knew something was inside her. Something inhuman. Something evil.

“Yes. Those will be gone.” Celine held her hand on Rumi’s shoulder, a tight, prideful squeeze. In the little girl’s mind, a singular goal became her world. Turn it gold. Get rid of these marks. Get rid of the monster inside.

She trained like a machine. Even Celine was astonished at the girl’s commitment. Every bruise, every falter, every note missed, every step mistimed, every failure to draw on her sword, all of it was weakness she had to stamp out. Weakness that the monster inside of her could use to take over if she let it show. Show no weakness. Faults and fears must never be seen.

She thought that if she kept refusing to think about that part of her, it could never seize her. The same way that if she never turned around to check over her shoulder, no monster could ever lunge. In the few movies she’d gotten to watch, the monster always waited for the person to look for danger before it struck.

But every time she looked at herself in the mirror, the marks were there, reminding her of her tainted blood. Reminding her that she was her mother’s mistake. A lapse in judgement with disastrous consequences.

One day, she pulled up her sleeve, and it felt like the world had ended.

No. No… no no no no! NO! “CELINE!” She screamed. Her hand, now afflicted with violent tremors, wrapped around her arm. As if it were meant to mock her, the edges of the patterns could no longer be covered by just her hand. She could see the jagged little ends poke out just below her pinky.

Celine rushed in, and Rumi shakily let her hand slide down, “They’re getting bigger!” Rumi cried. “Am I gonna turn into a-“

“No!” Celine snapped at her. “You’re a hunter, Rumi!” But Celine’s eyes held a fear that made Rumi wonder otherwise.

“Come here.” Celine grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her from the bathroom, leading her roughly to the girl’s room. “Ow!” She yelped, but it fell on deaf ears as Celine tore open her closet and found a shirt with a longer sleeve.

“We’ll have to change up your wardrobe. Nobody can ever see your patterns, Rumi. Faults and fears must never be seen. Never. Do you understand me?”

“I-“ Rumi stammered, her mind reeling. “Why are they spre-“

“Rumi!” Celine snapped at her. “Do you understand?”

Rumi shook her head, trickles of panicked lucidity fueling her fears, “No! I don’t! Why are they spreading?! Why is this happening?! What’s going to hap-“

The sharp sound of skin striking skin echoed in her ears as pain spread through her face. Her hand went to her cheek as tears started to form.

“Rumi, stop!” Celine yelled. Her face tightened as she clenched her fists. “Do not cry.” She ordered with a shaky, yet calculated calmness. “Your faults and fears must never be seen. You are a hunter. A hunter, and only a hunter. You are not one of them. And you must keep your patterns hidden.”

Celine’s eyes were so cold, like she was training a violent beast not to snarl. Rumi blinked back the tears.

Did Celine really hit me?

“Do you understand?”

My faults and fears must never be seen. Rumi forced herself into a straight face. She shoved it all down. All of it into a knot in her brain that she didn’t dare to try to untangle. Her jaw felt tight as she met her mentor’s eyes. Not in opposition, but in submission. It’s because of my patterns that she hit me. That’s why. I deserved it.

“Yes, Celine.”

Chapter Text

Zoey started having dreams. Very weird dreams. The kind of weird that made her genuinely question her sanity.

She was standing in the woods. The underbrush grew so high she struggled to walk, forcing her way through the thrush of thorns, weaving her way around ivy-covered trees. And then, she saw a road sign that read: Burbank Road. She followed the pointed end and saw her hometown. She began to work her way toward it, when a melody caught her ear, coming from the opposite direction.

We are Hunters, Voices strong

Slaying demons with our song

The melody engrossed her. She turned away from Burbank, her eyes falling upon the ghost of a path. It was overgrown with the same thorn bushes she’d been wading though. It looked like it hadn’t been tread in decades, but it undoubtedly wound its way into the darkness of the wilderness. She forced herself forward as the melody continued in the wind.

Fix the world and make it right

When darkness finally meets the light.

She echoed the song’s rhythm with a hum, and as she did, the ground beneath her step shivered with a tremor. Waving lines of blue light circled around her, billowing out like a wave. The forest lit up, and far off in the distance, Zoey could see a massive tree atop the mountain. She ran toward it, the thorns grabbing at the fabric of her streetwear pants,

Zoey?

A voice called out, its echo resonating with her soul, pulling her forward. The tree grew closer. Closer. Closer!

Zoey!

“Zoey!”

Her eyes shot open, and immediately the sun blinded her. She groaned as she tumbled away from it, holding her hands over her eyes. She was back in her bed. Back in Burbank.

“Zoey! For God’s sake will you get up? The bus will be here in twenty minutes!”

“What?” She pulled her hands away and glanced at her clock: 8:04 AM

“OH CR-I MEAN… AGGHH!!” Zoey leapt out of bed and yanked open her dresser, “Dad, leave, I gotta change!”

Her father sighed, “Just like your mother…” he grumbled under his breath. Zoey tried to pretend she didn’t hear it, but the pain in her chest didn’t seem to get the memo. She grabbed a sea-green T-shirt and yanked it over her head, and then she pulled open the bottom drawer and grabbed the first pair of pants she could. As she stuck her foot into the first pant leg, she realized these were the pants she’d been wearing in the dream.

Only now did it fully settle on her. She hummed the notes from the melody to herself, and with her pants still half-on, she couldn’t get it out of her head. She reached for her notebook on her desk and flipped it to the next clear page. She scribbled the words down, but before she could shut the book, she started sketching the tree.

It had been huge. Its limbs stretched outward like they were reaching for her, beckoning her into its embrace. She redrew the squiggling blue lines that had echoed across the landscape, and then slammed her notebook shut before tucking it gently into her backpack, never to be seen by any eyes except her own.

If she showed them to her mom, then it might end up being spouted back out in a fight between her and her dad. She could already imagine what her mom might say: She’s artistic, like me, Jack!

She shook away the thoughts, glancing again at her clock. “Crud!” She muttered. She pulled her pants on the rest of the way and dug around for her headphones, quickly finding them underneath a mess of papers. Are those important?

She wasn’t sure, so she grabbed them all and jammed them into her bag. She snatched her phone off her dresser and yanked her charger from the outlet beside her bed.

Her hair was brushed in a couple minutes, and she was stumbling down the stairs, looking for her shoes. She found them, shoved her feet into them, and took a deep breath. “I’m all ready!”

“식사하셨나요?” [Have you eaten?] Her mother asked. Zoey noticed the way her father rolled his eyes.

“시간이 없어요. 학교에서 먹을게요.” [I don’t have time. I’ll eat at school] She said quickly to her mom. She didn’t look at her father, but she knew he was annoyed. She felt a pang of guilt in her chest. I shouldn’t be speaking Korean when he’s around, it’s not fair to him.

Sometimes, she wondered if it hurt him when she liked Korean things more than American. She could demolish a burger, but she fell in love with her eomma’s cooking. She tried to brush it off: Any daughter loves her eomma’s cooking, no need to feel guilty for that.

But the more she thought about it the more she realized that it went beyond food. She loved the culture, the language, the way it tumbled off the tongue like it was begging to be spoken. English was too slow. Everyone always told her she spoke too quickly.

Maybe that was why rapping came so easily to her. Though, she had to admit that it was easier to rap in English than in Korean.

The squeal of bus breaks outside made her jump, and she bolted out the door. yelling “Bye, 나중에 봐요!” [See you later!] The door shut behind her, and she ran down the driveway to the bus. The door opened, and the driver scowled at her. “You’re supposed to be here before the bus pulls up. You’re lucky I waited.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Zoey said as she bounded up the stairs. As she turned to stare down the aisle, her heart sank. Every morning she felt it. All eyes on her. Her house was far enough along the route that every seat was filled with one person already. The question hung in the air, unspoken: Who’s getting stuck with the weirdo today?

She walked along quickly, not wanting the bus driver to snap at her again. “Can I-“ She started, but a backpack was tossed onto the open seat before she could finish. One after the other, kids looked away, shoved their bags into the way, or threw their arm over the backrest and said “Saved.”

She tried to trick herself into believing that this was normal. This is a universal experience, I’m not alone. She barely even liked these kids. Barely even knew their names, much less who they were. She tried to convince herself that it wasn’t personal, they just wanted to sit alone, or they really were just saving that seat for their special person. And who was Zoey to get in the way of that? It’s not personal, they don’t like, hate you or anything! Don’t be a spaz and panic over nothing.

It’s not personal. She repeated it to herself, but the mantra apparently fell on a deaf brain. If this wasn’t personal, then why was it so painful to be rejected by them? Why did every motion, every “saved” seat, tear at her like a predator’s claws? Was it her? Was she just too touchy, too feely? Why was she so vulnerable to it when everyone else was fine?

Another girl slid her bag into the way, looking at Zoey like she was pathetic for even daring to hope. She lowered her head and took another two steps. It’s not personal, Zoey! Finally, the boy in the next seat sighed and shrugged. “Whatever.”

Zoey slid into the spot and held her back in her lap, trying not to be of any disturbance to the boy. She couldn’t remember his name, only that he was in her class. He was the new kid last year, in sixth grade, but he’d found friends within the week. She, on the other hand, had been here since pre-K and still hadn’t found her place. She was grateful to the boy, but this time, her mind had no problem accepting the obvious truth: it’s not personal.

Her thoughts wandered back to the dream. It unsettled her how real it felt. How soothing the melody had been as it rang through her ears. It was like someone was calling her to the place she truly belonged. She had no idea where that was, of course… but she knew it wasn’t here.

As the bus pulled into the drop-off zone, everyone stood. Zoey slipped out into the aisle, clutching her backpack in her arms. Almost everyone was taller, her view blocked by shoulders and backs and hair. One by one they exited the bus, Zoey bounced down the steps and let her eyes fall to the sidewalk. She wondered what it would be like not to hold her head down when she walked. What it would be like to be normal and confident. Or, at least just normal.

As she walked up the steps and into the doors she felt like her chest might implode. Calm down. Nothing’s happening. You’re not that special, nobody cares. Nobody even notices you, everything’s okay!

She stopped at her locker and hung her backpack on the octopus hook—that’s not what it was actually called, but she always felt like that’s what it looked like. She grabbed her english notebook and her copy of Frightful’s Mountain for class. And then she found herself frozen in place. She again was confronted with the question asked every time she was forced to part with her backpack.

Can I bring my notebook?

The obvious answer was no.

But Zoey learned the hard way what happened if her mind went wild and she had nothing to dump the spiral into. And she couldn’t let anything spill into her school notebooks. Something about that felt impassably wrong, like writing a math equation in her history notebook.

It felt like that was a rule nobody had to tell her. A fundamental law of the universe that simply wasn’t able to be broken. Trying to anyway was like trying to walk off the route in a Pokémon game. The code simply didn’t allow it to ever happen.

She had to bring it. It would be safe in her locker, sure. But she wouldn’t be safe without it. She slid it underneath the rest of the stack and started walking to class, her nerves tightening with each step. She entered the room, flicking her wrist upward in a weak wave to Mr. Petrakus, who gave her a smile in return. She slipped into her seat and took a breath.

The day trickled by. English class, math—algebra was not her vibe—followed by gym, then history.

And then lunch. 11:30 to 12:00. The second-scariest half-hour of her life. She grabbed her lunchbox and scrambled from the room the moment the bell rang. She thought she might’ve heard Ms. Slater call out to her, but it didn’t matter. Literally nothing mattered except speed.

She ran through the hallway, down the stairs, and turned right. She passed both locker rooms and stuck her head carefully into the gym. Empty. Just like always. She stepped inside and quickly ran to the edge of the bleachers. She twisted herself deeper and deeper into the network of boards, steel slats, and supports until she felt like maybe nobody would see her.

Only now did she dare to unbox her lunch. Normally she would have groaned at the sight of japchae in school, but since the gym was completely abandoned, she figured she might as well get to enjoy her favorite meal if she was eating under gym bleachers.

She pulled out her notebook and started working on the recording she’d been obsessing over for the past month, jotting down bits and pieces of it. Notebook on one leg, lunch on the other, all wrapped up in rhythmic bliss. She bobbed her head to the beat as she replayed it over and over and over again. Enough to give any sane person a headache and then some, but Zoey always had a habit to play songs she was obsessed with on repeat for hours at a time until she finally began to miss the other songs to which she’d neglected to listen.

She was so into the tune that she didn’t realize she hadn’t been alone for a while. A finger on her shoulder triggered a shockwave. She jumped up and on her feet, ready to run or f—no, definitely just run. She barely even registered the face in front of her.

“So this is where you’re always running off to.”

“Ms. Slater?” Zoey breathed. “Jesus, you scared-“ Her brain finally computed the last few seconds, and she looked to see her lunch spilled all over the floor. “Man…” She mumbled it like a joke, but actually felt a really thick weight sitting in her chest at the sight of the mess. I barley even got to eat it…

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Ms. Slater sat on one of the beams and pulled out a packet. “I was going to go over your essay, but you ran off.”

“That bad, huh?” Zoey said with a humored wince.

“Oh, Zoey…” Slater sighed, “You’re funny. We both know you write circles around everyone else.” She flipped through the essay. “It’s good. Really good.”

“Thanks.” Zoey murmured, unsure of how to respond.

“Listen, there’s this summer writing program—”

“Oh, I go to Korea in the summers.” Zoey said quickly, “S—sorry, didn’t mean to cut you off.” She relaxed a little, forcing herself not to look at the mess of food she would have to clean up. “But yeah… I go to Korea… so…”

“I’ll bet you miss your friends a lot.”

Zoey snorted out a laugh, only to realize Ms. Slater was being serious. Oh… “I have friends in Korea, too.”

A lie on many different levels.

Ms. Slater nodded, but Zoey could see in her eyes that she wasn’t letting it go, “Zoey, you’ve got a gift. I know you’re young right now but we see your passion for writing. Petrakus says the same. Said your poetry project was the best he’s ever seen. Would it kill you to change it up one year to chase your passion?”

You don’t get it. Zoey thought. It’s not about me. I have to go because if I don’t then they’re going to make a fight of it and I don’t want them to fig-

Zoey felt her breath catch. Oh no.

Not here.

Not now.

She fought viciously against the teary feeling in her eyes as Ms. Slater kept saying something. Zoey cut her off. “I want to go to Korea for the summer. It’s more important than some writing camp. If I’m that good, I can wait for opportunities that are available when I’m in America.”

She wasn’t sure if she breathed through any of it, but Ms. Slater nodded, gave her a “think about it, okay?” before she stood and left.

When Zoey was sure she was alone, she finally gave way to the feeling. She let tears consume her. They were fighting more and more now. It was her fault. If I wasn’t having such a hard time at fitting in, they wouldn’t fight. If I didn’t speak Korean to Eomma or speak English around Dad. If I didn’t take those summer trips to Korea, if I didn’t fall in love with skateboarding, if I didn’t love kimchi, they wouldn’t have anything to fight about.

If I didn’t exist, would they still love each other?

Could I go to the camp?

Forget it. Nobody actually sees anything in you. Teachers always tell kids they’re gifted. You're not actually gifted like they say, you’re not that special.

She’d cried the entire lunch period away, at some point cleaning up the japchae. Her stomach growled at her. She could have gone to the cafeteria and begged for food; they probably would have given her something.

But she couldn’t even bring herself to entertain the idea of walking into that room like a lamb into the slaughterhouse. Instead, she dropped her head in fatigue and irritation as she went outside with her class for the scariest thirty minutes of her day: recess.

Zoey stayed on the bench beside the door. The teachers would usually stand nearby and chat instead of supervise, but today they seemed mercilessly focused on Zoey.

“Go and play, for gods sake!” Mr. Warren patted Zoey’s shoulder, pushing her forward. She walked toward the playground, but she found herself impossibly drawn to the big bushes that lined the building instead. She was already turned toward them when a voice made her nerves run cold.

“Look who it is.” Hunter snickered. He threw his arm around her. She desperately scanned for any way out, but his grip on her shoulder had an edge of finality to it. She couldn’t shake it off, and he dragged her around the corner of the building. Sarah and Milo were sitting there, smirks already smeared on their faces.

“Hey, It’s the spaz! Say, where’s your notebook?” Sarah asked.

“Just leave me alone, I don’t wa-“

A shove at her back threw her to her knees, Hunter was pulling away her backpack. “Stop it!” She tried to hold it but it slipped from her grip. Hunter dug through it, beaming when he found the notebook. “Anyone got a lighter?”

“Stop it! Please, just stop!”

“Make me.”

Zoey tried to swallow the urge to start sobbing. Hunger looked around, and it became clear that nobody had a lighter. “Fine.” He muttered. He walked over to the creek and held it over the water. “Hey, spaz! Go fetch!”

Zoey didn’t look. She only heard the splash as Hunter whipped her notebook into the water. She finally managed to wrestle herself free from Sarah, scooped up her backpack and came to the edge of the bank. Without thinking she hurled the bag over. The creek was only about seven feet across, so her bag smacked into the ground. She jumped in after her things.

“Look at her, she really is an animal!” Milo burst into laughter.

Zoey grabbed her notebook and waded to the other bank. She dragged her backpack behind a tree and huddled their, her heart pounding wildly. It was these moments in which she was somewhat proud of herself for her dexterity. She’d like to see anyone else be that efficient in running away from something.

But her mind was quickly slipping into darkness she really didn’t want to be in right now. She abandoned her pride and pulled her headphones over her ears. She dug through her bag until she found her phone, cranked the volume and set off a playlist.

“ALL ABOARD!!” A wild voice howled through the headphones.

Crazy Train. Zoey started bobbing her head to the beat, hoping that maybe if she moved around enough, it would sooth her nerves; another rhythm to banish all her demons. At some point, the music carried her off into bliss and then, seamlessly, into unconsciousness.

She was back there again. The voice was even louder

We are Hunters, voices strong

“Hey!” Zoey screamed out. No sound came. She looked toward Burbank, but it looked barren. She recognized the place, but it was disheveled, like the zombie apocalypse had come just for it.

She started running up the mountain. “Hello? Can’t you hear me?” She heard her voice rattle as the ground shimmered

Slaying demons with our song

“Listen to me! Hey! I’m right here!” Zoey stumbled onto her hands, but she scrambled back up. Come on! She told herself as her feet snagged on thorns and roots.

Fix the world and make it right

A light appeared in the darkness of the forest. A blazing glow of violet. Zoey couldn’t see what was making it, but she could see the tree, so far away. She ran for it. Closer and closer.

When darkness finally meets the light

Zoey’s legs stopped working. She collapsed, the tree was so close, but Zoey felt like she might never reach it. Her legs wouldn’t move. She screamed at them to, but they wouldn’t. She dragged herself forward, but then her arms fell limp. She could feel the warmth from the light. It was right behind the tree. If she could just scoot over a few feet she would be able to see it.

The voice, soft like silk and sadness, spoke. “Someday. Promise me.”

Zoey swallowed, unsure of what she was doing. “I promise.” She echoed. A smash shook the world. She closed her eyes for a moment out of fear.

She jolted awake, P!nk’s voice blasting into her headphones

So raise your glass if you are wrong

in all the right ways, all my underdogs!

We will never b-

She pulled her headphones off and paused her music. Her eyes caught the time: 4:58. She blinked in disbelief, but the number didn’t change to anything more reasonable. “Cra-a-ap!” She groaned as she stood up. Her clothes were still damp. She looked at her notebook. The pages were warped and crackly, but, luckily, most of the ink hadn’t run. It was still legible.

She walked to a shallower part of the creek and crossed, unable to find care about whether her shoes got wet again. Her back ached no matter how much she stretched. Her neck felt like someone had twisted it around in her sleep. Next time, don’t fall asleep against a tree.

Everyone was gone. No cars in the parking lot, she should have been home over an hour ago. Did her parents look for her? Were they still looking? She hoped not. If she could slip in and make up some lie it would be better for everyone.

She started walking, digging into her pocket for bus money. She breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled out a scarce few dollars. Her mind slipped back to the dream as she waited at the bus stop.

She’d heard it. She could still hear it ringing in her ears

Someday. Promise me.

What had she promised? She shook her head as the bus arrived, Zoey, you’re not that special. Nothing’s happening. You’re just some sad version of Peter Parker who never got bit but still pretending something’s happening anyway. Just forget about it. Dreams are always weird.

An hour later she was walking up her porch, still feeling raw from the dream. She didn’t want to be the crazy kid who thought they were special… it’s just that dream felt too weird not to be. But dreams were just like that.

She pulled open the front door and her parents were both sitting at the table. Dead silence filled the air, like she’d just walked in on two people in a stalemate, guns drawn and ready to fire.

“어디에 가보셨나요?” [Where have you been?]

“나는 에세이를 마치기 위해 학교에 늦게까지 남았고 시간 가는 줄 몰랐다.” Zoey answered. She could see her father’s face twist in frustration. “I stayed late at school to finish my essay, and then I lost track of time.” She repeated in English.

“Okay, first off, this is a one language conversation. Now is not the time for language barriers.”

Eomma rolled her eyes, but her dad didn’t seem to notice.

”Second, you’re gonna have to do better than that. The school called and said you disappeared after recess. We were about to call the police, Zoey!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you guys. I just walked around for a while, no biggie.” She remarked with a shrug.

“It is a ‘biggie’ when we don’t know! You didn’t answer your phone once. We called you like a thousand times!”

“Jack, don’t be so hard on her. Let her explain. Zoey?” Her eomma gestured for her to say something.

She couldn’t come up with anything. “Look, I’m sorry! I messed up, can you just ground me or punish me so I can go to my room?”

“Zoey!” Her eomma scolded, “That is no way-“

“What is going on with you?” Her dad demanded. “You skipped half of school and you’ve been oversleeping a lot lately. What is happening?”

Dad, I don’t know what’s happening! I’m having these really weird dreams that I don’t understand, everyone at school hates me, my notebook is all messed up and I can’t keep sitting here trying to make both of you happy!

“Nothing is happening, jeez! Just…” She couldn’t find any words, “Gaa-ah! Just leave me alone!” She stormed up the stairs before they could stop her and all but slammed her bedroom door closed, locked it, and then fell on her bed.

Just do homework. Stop thinking. I’m so tired of thinking.

Chapter Text

Mira sat on the edge of her bed, her stomach gnawing at itself with a miserable, hollow growl. Her knuckles ached beneath the bandages she’d wrapped them in. She knew that downstairs, her parents, and her beloved brother, were enjoying yet another meal made by experts, pretending she didn’t exist.

She wished she could do the same, if only she weren’t trapped in her own head. You’re a disappointment. Can’t do anything right. Mira the Menace.

You’re the problem. Those three get along. They fit. You’re the piece in the wrong puzzle box.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. “Miss Mira?” 

Mira recognized the voice, and all the dark thoughts were chased away. How could they dare to stay when the brightest thing in her world announced itself? “Aera, you don’t have to knock.” She mumbled. “Hey and I keep telling you, not to call me ‘miss’ when my parents aren’t around. It’s—blegh—formal.” She joked with a shudder.

The door cracked open, and Aera stepped in with a small tray of food. If her parents caught the maid doing this, she’d be fired on the spot. Aera slid the tray in the hollow space of Mira’s nightstand and closed the curtain to hide it.

“Thanks.” Mira murmured. She felt her shoulders relax in Aera’s presence. 

“I heard the yelling.” Aera said as she sat next to Mira on the bed. The woman’s eyes flicked down to Mira’s hands. “I’m guessing this was the topic? What happened?”

Such a question would normally make Mira angry. But when Aera asked it, she heard a kindness in her voice that she heard from nowhere else.

“This kid was bullying Tae—this guy in my class.” Mira muttered. “For no reason. Tae was just reading and the asshole stole his book and tore a bunch of pages out.”

Aera smiled a little. “You stood up for Tae?”

Mira nodded. “I know I’m not supposed to, okay? I’m not stupid. But I had to do something, and nobody does anything if you report it!” Aera laid her hand on Mira’s wrist, but she instinctively shied away from the touch. “Mira, it’s okay.”

“Nobody else thinks so.” 

“You’re a fighter, not a diplomat.” Aera said with a laugh. “You’re a good kid. All you gotta do is find a healthier way to cool that hot head of yours.”

If anyone else had said that, all Mira would have heard was a remark about her being a hothead. But from Aera, every word sank in.

You’re a good kid.

She really wanted to believe that. A large part of her did. Mira knew Aera was right. She was certainly no diplomat—too quick to throw a punch, too abrasive, too alternative. Too… her.

I used to be worse. Before Aera came around, Mira was in detention every other day, and couldn’t go one day without an argument. Biting the hand that fed became a ritual. She couldn’t stand the faces they made the few times she’d relented, like they were making progress in breaking a stubborn dog. 

She wasn’t a dog, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be broken.

The rage was invasive, and she had no way to let it out. It exploded frequently, quickly, and loudly. Anything from a hole in the wall to a broken nose on the first kid to piss her off at school. At least now—ever since Aera introduced her to dancing—she could curb her anger until someone who actually deserved it came along. 

“Dancing has helped a lot” Mira pointed out. “If you hadn’t turned me onto it, I’d probably have gotten expelled by now.” 

Or arrested, she added in her head.

”I’m so happy to hear you’ve been enjoying it.” Aera nudged her shoulder playfully, “Maybe you’ll be a kpop star yet.” As she did so her eyes lit up with some realization.

“Oh my goodness, how could I forget?” Aera smacked herself lightly on the head and pulled something out of her pocket. “This came for you. I was able to snag it before either of your parents saw. I figured you should get to read it before they did.” Aera handed her an envelope, and Mira read it over. “Sunlight Entertain-  whoa, they’re a huge idol company!”  Mira gawked. “Why are they sending me stuff?”

Aera shrugged, “I don’t know, but it could be something worth looking into.” She looked around Mira’s room before sighing. “You’ll do amazing things in this world, Mira. I just know it.”

Mira leaned into her wordlessly. Aera gave her a tight squeeze with her arm. She relished these moments, genuinely loving contact without any performance, no part to play.

“You’ve gotta go back before they realize you’re gone.” Mira sighed. “I don’t want you to get fired.”

“Yeah… I do.” Aera sighed. “You’ll be okay?”

Mira smiled, “I’ll be okay.”

Aera got up, gave Mira one last hug, and then slipped out of the room, silently closing her door.

Mira got up, locked her door, and then pulled out the tray of food. It was delicious: extra spicy, just how she loved it. Yet another thing her real mother never understood that Aera accepted without judgement. 

She promised herself that once she got the hell out of this house and got herself a job, she would send a part of her wages to Aera—no matter how little or much she made. She tore open the letter, her eyes skimming over the important words.

A scout of ours observed … we believe you may be a good fit for a project currently in the works… if you are interested in auditioning… please contact Celine at ##########.

No way… Mira thought.

She curled up in her bed, mind ablaze with possibilities—real possibilities—of getting the hell out of here. A wave of exhaustion quickly thrust her into blackness. The next thing she knew, her eyes opened again.

She was standing on the balcony of her home, the breeze pushing her hair over her shoulder. She swept it back.

She glanced through the sliding glass door, and could see her parents sitting in their chairs in the family room. Their faces were low, but Mira could read the disappointment in their bodies.

She looked back over the balcony, and her nerves froze as she heard it again. The same song.

We are Hunters, voices strong

Slaying demons with our song

Fix the world and make it right

When darkness finally meets the light.

She hummed along, feeling that familiar pull toward the forest. Tonight, she didn’t resist. She swung one leg over the balcony, then the other. She reminded herself that she’s definitely jumped from a second-story height before. Probably.

Gravity took her, and she tumbled to the ground before rolling back onto her feet and sprinting. One leg after the other, flying across the ground into the fog.

She tripped over tree roots, and then she stumbled into the clearing she knew all too well. That massive tree enveloped her vision, and everything began to feel fuzzy, like she was being pulled away. 

“No, come on! Come on, let me stay here!” She yelled. She opened her mouth and she sang:

“We are Hunters, Voices strong

Slaying demons with our song”

She shivered as the ground beneath her shimmered. What the hell? She saw the blue lines flood outward, and as she looked off into the distance, for a moment she swore she could see someone else, so far away they were barely a silhouette.

She kept singing:

“Fix the world and make it right

When darkness finally meets the light.”

Whoa, that wasn’t just me.

She turned, and standing at the base of the tree was a girl. Her features were fuzzy, Mira couldn’t really look right at her, like the girl always danced on the edge of her peripheral. Staticky lines of purple stretched toward the ground, and extending from the girl’s side was a flurry of a shimmering, powerfully bright blue. Mira knew her voice had joined her in the second part of the song. “Hello?” She called out. For just an instant, the girl became more vivid, and began to turn toward Mira.

Just as their eyes met, she woke up.

Her room was still bright; she’d forgotten to turn off the lights before she’d dozed off. Now she sat, feeling this strangeness sliding under her skin. She had to get up. Had to go somewhere. Had to do something to move toward a place she couldn’t identify.

She picked up the letter again and checked the time; 6:26 A.M. Was that too early to try and call a phone number?

She shrugged, dug around in the bedsheets until she found her phone, and then dialed the number for Celine.

The line connected before a single ring could even complete. “Hello, this is Celine from Sunlight Entertainment.” A firm, sharp voice came from the other end. 

“Hi, my name is Hong Mira. I received a letter from Sunlight entertainment, I guess a scout was at one of my dance competitions. It said I should call this number and set up an audition if I was interested.” Mira said. 

“Ah, of course.” The voice in the other end said. “There’s an opening Monday at 12:30. Can you come in then?”

I’ll have to skip school. “Absolutely.” She said without hesitation.

“Very good. I will send you the address. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t, ma’am.” And for once, Mira meant it. She would not screw this up. Today’s Friday. I have two days to get to Seoul. Her parents wouldn’t wake up until 7. They were the kind of freaks who never woke up early nor late. Always at 7. 

She crept out of her room, and snuck down the hall to where her parents were sleeping. All she needed was enough won for a train ticket and some extra for a place to stay. That’s all she needed. She didn’t need anything for the trip back. Even if she blew the audition, she wasn’t coming back. There was nothing for her here.

She looted her mother’s purse for what she needed—maybe plus some—which was only a fraction of what her mother had on her. Once she’d crossed the threshold back into the hallway, she broke into a sprint to her room. She shoved the won into her backpack. Then she threw in some changes of clothes and what was left of her snack stash.

She sat for a second, holding her phone. Would her parents track her? No, they wouldn’t notice the missing money. That was all they would have cared about. They wouldn’t want to do anything to bring her back. Plus, she needed it for when Celine sent the address.

She threw her phone into her bag, and then she walked out of her house, feeling a weight fall off her like it had been trapped in the doorway. She ran down the street, but one thing stopped her.

Aera.

Mira couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Of all the things she’d done in this world, she couldn’t justify nor forgive herself for it if she’d left Aera like that. She turned and took off toward Aera’s apartment. 

She’d known the address ever since the end of Aera’s first month as one of the maids. Mira had gotten into it with her parents and she ran out of the house, only to be met with Aera, who had just left for the day. Aera took Mira to her apartment to crash for the night.

Every now and again, when things got really bad with her parents, she’d crash at Aera’s for a night or two.

She got there at 7:13, ran up to her door, and banged on it like a monster trying to break in.

“Aye, I’m coming! What th- Mira?” 

“Hi, Aera.” Mira waved softly, . “Sorry, I just… I had to see you.”

“What happened? Do you need a place to stay, it’s no pro-”

Mira held up a hand as she laughed a little, “No, actually. I… uh… heh, I can’t believe I’m saying this… I’m leaving.” She scratched her head nervously. “That letter? from Sunlight? I called them this morning, and they set me up for an audition in a few days. So… I’m going to Seoul. If it works out, I’m not coming back and, if it doesn’t, well… the same story.”

Aera’s eyes were shiny with tears. She opened her mouth to say something, but she shook her head and wrapped her arms around Mira. “Are you sure about this?”

“No… but I’m doing it anyway.”

“Oh… aegiya.” Aera pulled back from the hug, looking Mira up and down with an inexplicable smile. “I swear sometimes you’re like the daughter I never had.”

The words dragged tears to Mira’s eyes. She never cried in front of adults. Never. Not even in front of Aera did she let herself cry. But those words broke her. “You’re the mom I never had.” She sobbed. “No matter what happens. I promised myself long ago that I would send you a portion of every paycheck I got.”

“Sweetheart, no. You will do no such thing.”

“I will. You had no reason to be so kind. I’m nothing but a delinquent, but you always saw me as a person. You rooted for me when I didn’t even want to root for myself. Please, let me do this for you.” Every word she’d ever wanted to say to Aera spilled out of her like a shaken can of soda that had finally cracked. Until she felt like she’d said so much she could say nothing else. 

She was a blubbering mess of tears. So was Aera. Somehow, they’d ended up inside Aera’s apartment, sitting beside each other on her couch. They sat together until Mira’s nose had stopped running and her eyes ran out of tears to cry. She was going to have to leave soon.

Mira shuffled her feet nervously. “I meant it, you know.” She swallowed back her tears, she wasn’t going to cry again after she’d already wiped her face clean. “You were the mother I never had. You taught me more than she ever did. You loved me like I was your blood.”

“To hell with blood. I meant what I said too. You’re a daughter to me.” Aera said. “I can’t wait to see what you do, Mira. You’re meant for something big. I say it all the time, but I really do know it.”

Mira’s mind flashed back to her dreams, that image of the tree. The girl. She found herself refocused on the time. It was 8 o’clock now. Had they really cried and talked for almost an hour? Talking to Aera felt timeless to her.

“I won’t let you down. Won’t screw it up. I don’t care what my mother thinks, if she curses me until the day she dies. I’ll make you proud.” Mira stood up, giving Aera one last hug, before she forced herself, step by step, to walk out and into the street. Daylight had fully broken, and the sun surprised her. She waved goodbye again and again, until, finally, she turned and ran for the train station.

She caught the soonest train to Seoul she could, set to leave at 10:15. The entire time, she couldn’t shove the dream out of her head. She was never superstitious. Never one to believe in dreams. But something about this dream, about that girl, with deep, brown eyes, was too real to ignore. 

She had no idea if she was even doing anything to pursue it. Probably just going insane 

Whatever. Insanity would be preferable to that house, that ‘family.’

She boarded the train without looking back.

Chapter Text

Rumi rose before the sun, her bedside clock read 5:00. She slid out of her bed and walked to her closet, finding a mid-length sleeved workout shirt and a pair of shorts. She pulled off her pajamas and then threw the new clothes on. 

Once dressed, she went about braiding her hair, a feat which, even with her experienced hands, took a solid half-hour to complete. 

The next step was breakfast. Celine would be awake by 6:00, and Rumi was supposed to have breakfast ready. Right now, it was only for her and Celine, but someday she’d cook for four instead of two.

Despite being slightly short on time, Rumi took a few moments to stare at the two bedroom doors next to each other across her hallway. Their to-be occupants were somewhere, out in the world. 

Rumi crept over to the first door and slid it open, stepping into a dark, empty box. It acted like a vacuum, sucking the air out of Rumi’s lungs. 

They could show up at any moment. It could be seconds from now, maybe minutes. Hours, or days, weeks or months… It could be years before they showed up. 

That’s what drove Rumi to the brink of insanity. It wasn’t the fact that she had to wait, she could tolerate unbearable things. But she couldn’t tolerate the indefiniteness of the unbearable feeling. The anticipation that might end tomorrow or still gnaw at her by the time she turned eighteen, and no way to know which it would be.

The only reprieve was that someday they would arrive. And in the meantime, she had responsibilities to fulfill. Things to pass the time. 

Like breakfast.

She backed out of the room, sliding the door shut. She turned on her heel and roamed back out into the kitchen, wincing as she read the time: 5:48

She was in that room much longer than she had thought. twelve minutes… still time. Still good.

She grabbed a pan to cook the egg, clicked on the stove, and added a quick dash of oil. She threw a package of Hetbahn rice it into the microwave and dug through the fridge to find the green onions she’d chopped the day before. 

As she cooked her mind wandered back to them religiously. What were they like? Would they like gyeran bap? Would they all sit next to each other at the table, or would they spread out? Would they get along well with each other?

Would they get along well with her?

The eggs sizzled in the pan, bright white and yellow with dark flakes of pepper scattered about. She nodded in satisfaction and divvied up the meals into two portions before setting them on the table. 

She heard Celine stirring, and she set about cleaning the dishes. Soft footsteps up the hallway a few minutes later made Rumi turn. “Good morning” She said.

“Good morning.”

They sat, and Rumi waited patiently for Celine to start eating, which the woman did quickly. It was quiet. The serenity was suffocating. She needed something to happen. She craved so badly for them to walk through that door. Come on. Come in!

She shook her head and scorned herself for her impatience. Sit down, and eat, and wait. That’s your job, so do it. If you keep acting like an impetuous brat, there’s no way the other hunters will like you.

She obeyed herself. After they’d eaten she finished the dishes, and they went outside to begin training.

It was long, exhausting, and painful. They stretched, ran laps through a carved out trail through the woods that circled back to the hanok, agility training, and finally, sparring.

Agility training was tough, but Rumi was gradually getting more nimble, more reflexive in her balance. She could feel it as she completed obstacle after obstacle without tripping, falling, or slipping. Years ago Celine had remarked that fumbling a jump must be Rumi’s favorite pastime. Not anymore. 

And as always, Celine watched with a stoic expression. Not quite pride, but not shame either. Just observing and analyzing Rumi’s every move as she trained. No doubt searching for error in her technique.

”Watch that edge there, your foot is dangerously close.” Celine called out as Rumi landed a jump.

You knew that. It’s like you’re trying to snap your ankle.

“Right.” Rumi called out as she adjusted. Is it really that big a deal if my foot wasn’t p-

No. Stop making excuses for yourself. You have a Honmoon to turn gold. You don’t have time for excuses.

Get it right next time.

She ran through the course again, Celine nodding with approval as she landed correctly on the previous problem jump. She finished the rest of the course without incident.

”Alright, let’s move on.” Celine walked over to the porch and rifled through the crate of mock weapons. She pulled out two identical swords. She held one in her dominant hand while she threw the other to Rumi.

Rumi caught it by the hilt and swung it around to kill the momentum. It was weighted to feel like a genuine sword, but its wooden edges were dull. Very capable of bruising, but not cutting.

The sparring began. Rumi knew Celine held back for most of her training. Commenting on various things:

“Watch your footing”

“Your stance is too wide. Try it again.”

“You need to bring up your sword faster to block properly.”

“That parry will get you killed against a real demon.”

“Faster.”

“Better.”

“Try it again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

Her shirt was heavily doused in sweat. Strands of hair had wriggled themselves free of the brain and stuck to her forehead.

Celine set the swords back into the crate. “You did well. Go on, take a break.”

Every muscle in her body ached. She could already feel bruises starting to form.

You did well.

Those words triggered such a euphoria that it all went away. The pain, the exhaustion, the anticipation for the other hunters. It all faded behind those words. 

Not for very long, though.

Rumi walked into the garden and sat beneath the Dangsam tree. She softly hummed, the Honmoon echoing back her words. It didn’t make sense to her why the Honmoon responded to her. She was only half a person. She closed her eyes, dark shapes, zigzags and dots dancing around the inky blackness. Does the Honmoon want to fix me, too? Why did it choose me? 

As if to answer her question, her vision became alive… almost. Blue lines danced everywhere. They almost obliterated any sense of direction or depth. They simply ebbed and flowed like an ocean. Two lights danced among the lines, shrouded in distance. Rumi smiled. Is that them?

The lights flickered, and Rumi straightened her posture. “Someday, we’ll be together, right? Promise me. Promise me that, please!” It was only an audible whisper, but from her soul Rumi had never screamed louder for anything in her life. 

She kept her eyes closed and her hands clasped, desperately waiting for something to happen. Something to indicate to her that anyone or anything had heard her plea.

“Rumi.” Celine’s voice shattered her focus. The lines in her vision faded. The lights were gone, and she felt a thick cold settle over her.

“Break is over. Back to training.”

“Yes, Celine.” Rumi picked up her practice sword and began walking toward the arena.

She readied her stance as Celine picked up a thick, wooden club. The end had jagged chunks of metal sticking out. “A hit from one of these can be lethal if you’re not careful.”

Rumi nodded, her sword ready, her stance making her as small a target as possible. 

She fell back into the groove at once. She was always set on edge when she was facing a weapon that could genuinely harm her. Her mind prioritized retreat—safety. 

“Rumi! You have to actually fight. Fear must not be seen! Do you think a demon will ease up? No. You will grow tired, and a tired Hunter is a dead one.”

Rumi nodded. “Yes, Celine.”

”Good. Now, commit to the fight. You’re a hunter. Risk is part of it.”

Celine charged again, and Rumi fought against both the club and against her instincts to disengage. She forced herself to parry instead of dodge, and to swing her sword instead of cower away.

She twisted it so the broad side struck, and she didn’t put full power into it.

It caught Celine’s ribs, and despite her efforts to lessen the blow as much as possible, it still elicited a grunt from her mentor. She staggered for an incomprehensibly short moment before she regained herself. “That’s how you do it. However, that was a weak strike. You’ll need to put power behind it.”

”I was just trying not to hurt you.” 

“Don’t worry about that. Strike like you’re fighting for your life.”

Rumi dropped her sword into the crate and followed Celine into the Hanok. She prepped lunch, they ate in another bout of silence.

Next was idol training. Vocal warmups, pitch work, working through logistics of song creation, how to put instruments and rhythms together to make something that struck auditory gold. 

“It will be easier when the other hunters are here. The songwriting process is more enjoyable with partners.”

Her heart ached all over again at the thought of them.

The day’s training was done by five o’clock. Rumi spent the remainder of the day showering, changing into fresh clothes, doing laundry, cleaning the hanok, and making dinner. 

It was almost nine o’clock by the time it was all completed. Rumi collapsed onto her bed, pretending that her throat wasn’t raw, that her muscles weren’t still aching, that today’s bruises weren’t forming.

This is worth it. This is how I’ll turn the Honmoon gold. Train hard. Word harder. I can do it. I can do this.

She closed her eyes and sleep swallowed her.

She sat on the porch of the hanok. The ground was gone, replaced by blackness. Only the hanok existed, everything else was void. 

Rumi tentatively touched her fingers to where the ground should have been, and the Honmoon sparked to life at her fingertips, the lines flowing out like waves in the wake of a stone dropped in water.

the Honmoon became the ground, blue lines mimicking the terrain she knew. She walked toward the garden, and the way the lines danced about in the air told her the dangsam tree was here. She sat down in front of it, humming the hunter’s lullaby. The Honmoon responded, pulsing out with every change of the notes. 

The lights danced about in the distance. Little fires, growing bigger. Growing nearer.

She wanted to yell out “Are you out there?” but her voice was gone. No way to call for them. No way to draw them to her. She knelt down against the Honmoon. 

Please, bring them to me. Tell them I’m here.

A sound finally pierced her ears. Rapid beeps that wouldn’t stop. Rattling her brain into oblivion. The Honmoon fizzled from view, and she floated in the blackness, holding her hands over her ears.

Her eyes broke open, the beeping suddenly stabbing into her ears with even more intensity. She rolled over and slapped the “Stop” on her alarm clock. With a groan, she sat up, wincing in pain. This is fine. She thought. I’ve had worse.

Rinse and repeat.

Change clothes.

Braid hair.

Breakfast.

She walked out into the kitchen and went about making deonjang-jjigae. She pulled out the cutting board and grabbed an onion. She only made two slices when Celine walked into the kitchen and took the knife from her

“I’ll handle breakfast today.”

Rumi nodded, but something in her stomach twisted. Why is today different? What was happening? Did she do something? Was there something she was supposed to do that she was neglecting?

Why is today different? It’s Monday. What’s special about a random Monday?

Celine seemed to read her confused spiraling as the woman elaborated:

“You will accompany me to Sunlight Entertainment to oversee the open auditions. This is the most efficient way for you to find the other Hunters.” Celine instructed. “Go on, get dressed. You want to look your best when you meet them, don’t you?”

The other Hunters? They’re actually coming? We’re looking?

“Yes, Celine!” Rumi turned on her heel and dashed toward her room. She already knew what she would wear: a suit and tie that she’d tailored herself.

She pulled off her hoodie and shorts with emotional ecstasy that she normally hammered down into a black, unsalvageable ball in her mind. She tried not to look into the mirror, but her eyes caught sight of them anyway.

The euphoria died on her tongue, leaving her with a bitter taste as she ran her hand from the side of her shoulder down to a few centimeters above her elbow. 

The jagged lines of purple etched across her upper arm made her stomach turn.

I hate you. 

It was her voice in her head, but she didn’t know if she was saying it to the patterns or to herself.

She stared at them, trying to see if those little edges had made any progress in carving through her skin, marring her and marking her as the worst of the worst.

If they’d spread in the last week, it hadn’t been enough for her to notice. Not yet, anyway. That was good. The less they spread, the better. She pulled the undershirt on, then slipped her arms into the suit jacket. 

Now dressed, she double checked the suit. Made sure there were no creases in the sleeves, that everything fit perfectly. She made sure the collar was symmetrical. She made sure her hair was perfect—not a strand out of place. She checked every nitty-gritty detail to make sure she looked like… well… she didn’t really know. Like someone. Like someone who knew how to talk, how to make friends, how to be a friend. Celine never really taught her any of that. 

What if I’m bad at this? What if they hate me? How will I know what to do? What to say?

“How will we know who the right girls are?” Rumi asked, ignoring the thoughts digging into her as she sat in the car, reaching for the seatbelt. The first pull she gave, the belt locked in place.

Relax.

She gave a softer pull and managed to buckle the belt. 

Celine twisted the key in the ignition, and the car rattled to life. She glanced at Rumi with a sort of playful half-smile.

“The Honmoon connects the three of you. You’ll know it when you feel it. Trust me.” The older woman answered with a wink. For a moment, Rumi swore that half-smile morphed into a full one. 

She didn’t dare speak or move, or do anything that might bear the slightest risk of shattering the air of kindness that had been surrounding Celine today. This tenderness was so rare, and Rumi couldn’t help but relish in it. The way it made her feel, this sort of love that was so rare. She must be doing something correctly, right?

Rumi watched through the window as trees were replaced by brick and mortar. A concrete world filled to the brim with people and cars. Normally, Rumi would have lowered her gaze. It was massive and unfamiliar and scary and too overwhelming. 

No. You’re going to be an idol someday. You’ll be on stage, singing in front of tens of thousands of people.

And you can’t handle some big buildings? Get a grip, Rumi!

And so she stayed still, and forced her eyes to scan the streets as they drove along. 

After a while, Celine turned down a narrow side street that quickly dipped underneath the ground. The needle on the speedometer crept closer and closer to zero as Celine pulled up alongside a man wearing slacks with a white button-up shirt with a black vest over top.

And then Celine climbed out of the car. Did Celine just forget to turn the car off? Rumi reached over to twist the keys out, but Celine’s quickly cut in; “No, Rumi, leave it.” with a quick wave of her hand. “This young man here is our valet, he’ll park the car for us.”

“Valet?” Rumi repeated as she climbed out of the car. “What’s t-“

“A valet is a person who takes your car and parks it so you don’t have to. It means we get inside faster.”

“Oh… okay.” Rumi nodded, logging the word into her memory and shoving down any and all follow-up questions as the valet slid into the driver’s seat, flashing Rumi a kind smile. Celine then took her hand—a gesture which Rumi decided was meant solely for ensuring that she didn’t get lost rather than for affection—and they walked into the Sunlight Entertainment building.

As they walked inside, the cold air smacked Rumi like a wall. She scanned the place quickly, trying to keep her face neutral. The floor was a shiny tile with black and white designs. A mean-looking lady sat at a desk. “This is the employee entrance.” Celine mentioned casually. 

She nodded at the big man blocking the hallway forward. In response, the man returned the nod and stepped to the side. They crossed the threshold and the flooring changed from tile to a carpet with black and gold swirling pattern.

They reached the elevator, Celine guiding her inside. She clicked the button for the twenty-fourth floor, and they waited in dead silence, save for the mechanical whirring of the elevator’s ascent.

Compared to the lobby, the audition room was very humble. A simple table with folding chairs, set up in front of a small raised stage. Simple, but efficient. There was a room behind the stage where the applicants could prepare. Along the left wall there was a door labeled “Waiting Room.”

Celine told her that each person would get 2 minutes. As they sat down, Celine put her hand on Rumi’s shoulder. “I will assess their skills—even if they aren’t one of the chosen Hunters, they may still have potential in other projects.”

Rumi nodded. She watched as a man walked over to a bunch of ropes and began pulling one, and a curtain swung forth, blocking Rumi’s view of the prep room.

“That means you don’t have to think about whether they’re good or pity them if the Honmoon doesn’t react. Your job is easier. Hunters have a connection, and you will feel that connection when you first make contact.” Celine explained further.

“What does it feel like?”

“I told you. You’ll know it when you feel it.”

A group of girls must have been brought in, judging by the distant chatter filling Rumi’s ears. She wondered if just hearing their voice would make her feel something. If so, none of the girls behind that curtain were one of the to-be hunters.

The first girl strode out onto the stage like she belonged nowhere else. Objectively speaking, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Long black hair with blue streaks at the ends. Rumi could see from the summary at Celine’s hands that this girl was thirteen.

Rumi couldn’t believe that. She looked so much older. Could it be the makeup? Or maybe this was just what normal thirteen year-olds looked like? She certainly didn’t look like that, and she was fourteen.

Her performance was good. A powerful voice  and a presence that demanded the attention it knew it deserved. By all intents and purposes, she should have been a perfect match. 

Except Rumi felt nothing. There was no special thing. She worried that it might be more subtle than she assumed. But Celine said I would know it. That doesn’t sound like a subtle feeling. What if it is anyway? I don’t think it is. Celine tapped the table, slicing through her thoughts. She returned Celine’s gaze, finding an unspoken question in the woman’s eyes: Is she one of them?

Rumi shook her head, just barely. Not enough that the girl would notice, but enough to tell Celine everything.

The next girl performed. 

Then the next.

And then the next.

Rumi’s mind felt numb to everything except the boredom. The prospect of doing this every day for weeks was genuinely insufferable to her. 

The Honmoon didn’t resonate with anyone that day. She felt like she was failing every time.

“I’m sorry.” She murmured to Celine at one point, who waved her off and simply responded “No need. This is necessary. The Honmoon will tell you when you see them.”

But Rumi could feel her own impatience growing. This is awful… Please, get here soon…

Chapter Text

Zoey sat at the top of the stairs—the worst place in the world. 

“If you keep shipping her off to Korea every summer, she’ll never get the chance to hang out with anyone she goes to school with!”

They don’t want to hang out with me, anyway. What’s the difference?

“In case you forgot again, our daughter is Korean too! She needs to be in touch with her roots!”

“She lives in America, Hana! All you’re doing is making it harder for her to fit in! It’s because of you!”

It’s my fault. I’m too much. It’s not Eomma’s fault. Please, stop fighting!

Zoey sighed and stood up. Nothing she could say or do would fix any of it. None of it mattered. I should have just lied and said I was super excited to go to Korea. Dad only said something because he thinks I want to stay.

I don’t want to stay.

But what if Eomma took that as a sign that I like Korea more? Then she would have said that to Dad, and this whole thing would have started anyway.

“Zoey deserves-“

“Don’t you start pretending that this isn’t about you trying to spite me! Don’t bring Zoey into this.”

I’m the reason this started. I’m already in this, Dad! It’s my fault! Just be mad at me!

She wanted to cry as she stepped into her room and shut the door. Like a reflex she reached for her headphones, pulling them over her head and scrolling through her playlist.

Jimmy Eat World - The Middle

How fitting. She thought with a self-pitying smirk. She clicked on the song, letting the beat pick her up and whisk her away from the room.

When had she not been in the middle of it? All she ever did was try to hold both their hands, keep them from pulling away. She just wanted them to love each other again.

She curled her arms around her knees, and the tears came like a thunderstorm. She wanted to scream. No matter what she did, she took a side. The skateboard in the corner of her room made her chest tighten. Dad was so happy when she’d bought it. Dad was also happy when she fell in love with streetwear clothes. But Eomma was so happy when they spoke in Korean. Eomma beamed with pride when Zoey loved a Korean dish. 

It just takes some time, little girl, you’re in the middle of the ride

Everything, everything will be alright

Will it be? A spike in the argument downstairs shook the floor. Zoey glanced at her window. In an instant, she made her choice.

She grabbed her notebook, pulled her shoes on, and slid the window open. Climbed out and, for just a moment she stood there, hands supporting her extremely precarious foothold. Working up the guts, she pushed off, watching the ground rush at her as she readied herself for the impact.

The moment struck, and she kicked herself into a barrel-roll. The result was just good enough for her ankles to be fine—Thank you, Youtube parkour videos—and she took off from her yard. 

Zoey had never been very scared of the dark. After all, what really was there to be scared of in Burbank after midnight?

Don’t answer that, brain.

She shook away the growing buds on anxiety on the back of her neck. She faced worse at school in broad daylight than she ever had in the largely unlit park. She felt safer, more hidden. The darkness was almost comforting. After all, who could find her if everyone was blind?

She ended up on a bench, close enough to a light post that she could see her notebook, but not quite close enough to it that she felt exposed under the light. She flipped mindlessly, but she always ended up back at that page.

The tree, the lines. The dream was so eerie. It felt too real for her nerves to shake it off and settle down. She remembered the song like she was hearing it now. She read the lyrics again, then glanced around. 

Yeah, I’m alone here. So, she sat up, and sang the notes she remembered:

“We are hunters voices strong.”

“Slaying demons with our song.”

“Fix the world, and make it right.”

“When darkness finally meets the light.”

She felt it again, that deep strangeness digging into her chest. A feeling she couldn’t fully feel that reminded her again of how off she felt. She wasn’t quite right. Not quite like everyone else. Something about her was different, and this feeling threatened to confirm it.

She shook her head. Stop it.

Maybe it was just the twist in her gut. It definitely was. You’re not special. You’re just trying to convince yourself that you’re not just… you.

“It’s not like I exactly enjoy being all of—this” she muttered in response to her own thoughts, gesturing to herself. Wow. I’m going insane. 

Going?

She shook off the thoughts as she pulled out her phone and started scrolling through news reports. Nothing registered in her mind, until she saw one posting in Korean:

Sunlight Entertainment Offering Open Auditions!

Youths worldwide are being offered the opportunity of a lifetime, as the famed Sunlight Entertainment Studio has-

Zoey took off back home. She had to get Eomma alone. Now. She bolted across the sidewalk, passing light posts, catching up to her shadow and leaving it in the dust over and over again. There’s home. She stumbled as she crossed the street, and then, just before the door, she hesitated. What if they’re still fighting?

She grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door open softly. As she stepped into the house, it felt surreal.

Everything was in its place. That was their shoe rack, their kitchen. The living room furniture was all correct. But it didn’t feel like home. She looked closer, and realized her dad was sleeping on the couch. 

She felt like a monster as she crawled up the stairs, avoiding the spots knew would creak. I’m not choosing Eomma over you, I swear! She didn’t speak, not wanting to wake him, but she hoped that, somehow, he heard her.

She came to their room—except that she didn’t know when the last time they both actually used it was.

“Eomma?” She knocked softly on the door. 

Her mom smiled, and Zoey pretended she couldn’t see the tears still shimmering. “Can I talk to you about something?” She spoke in Korean, knowing it would make her eomma feel better.

“Of course,” Eomma patted the bed, and Zoey sat beside her. 

“I want to go to Korea this summer, Eomma. But… well…” Zoey showed her the news report, “Can I please audition? I know it won’t go anywhere, but I just… I want to go there so badly! Celine, from the Sunlight Sisters? She runs the company! If I could meet her… Eomma please.”

“Zoey, I don’t know if-“

“Please, eomma! It’s after school ends, and I go to Korea every summer anyway! The timing is perfect, please! I just… please.” Zoey held her hands up, begging. Please. Please!

Her eomma sighed sadly. “I’ll… think about it. Now, go to bed, Zoey. You have school tomorrow.”

Zoey nodded, unsure of whether she’d accomplished anything or if she just got rejected from her dream. As she slinked back to her room, the bad thoughts came back with a vengeance. She collapsed onto her bed, fully at their mercy.

You probably just kicked off tomorrow’s argument. Great job, Zoey. You’re a terrible daughter.

It’s one thing to sit in your room and cry like a baby.

It’s another to throw a wedge in between them.

You know this will ruin Dad. You’re choosing Eomma. You’re choosing Korea.

I’m not trying to choose between them! 

You already did.

I’m choosing myself!

That’s even worse. Don’t you care about them at all?

Of course I do… But… I love the Sunlight Sisters. I just want to do something for me. Why can’t this be about me, and have nothing to do with them?

Why is it always about them? Why does everything I do somehow mean something for them? Why can’t I just make them both happy?

Zoey threw her fist into her pillow. Shut up, brain! She yanked her headphones back on and tried to find a calmer playlist. She felt a sigh of relief as her hand hovered over a playlist meant almost entirely for sobfests. 

As she hit play, Let Down by Radiohead kicked off. And a sobfest it will be. She declared in her head as the first few notes ticked by. The bass kicked in, and the first words wept into her ears.

She mumbled along mindlessly, the song’s tired melancholy already dragging tears to her eyes. She laid down, pulled her blanket over herself, and closed her eyes in a feeble attempt to pretend she was going to manage to sleep tonight. 

The dream came back again that night. 

The tree, again. Exactly as she’d seen it. The voice, so far away. But somehow, it felt nearer, like Zoey had taken an unconscious step closer to it.

She was running toward it, but someone called out to her. 

“Zoey! Wait!”

She slowed down as she glanced behind her. She felt like her heart was twisting itself in half as she saw her dad standing on the sidewalk, his face twisted into an expression so hurt that Zoey stumbled. As she fell into the brush, the ground gave away and she fell into darkness.

She yelped as she found herself suddenly sitting upright. “What the?” She was underground—no, this is a blanket. She untangled herself from the covers and glanced at her clock: 3:54 AM

What a horrible time to wake up. She thought glumly as she stretched. She definitely wasn’t going to fall alseep now. 

“Well, I might as well stop crying.” She muttered. She found her headphones, which had slipped off her head at some point, and checked their battery. Still good.

Those headphones were her pride and joy. A battery life long enough to block her thoughts for up to half a day, crisp quality, and they were insulated enough that if she blasted the music only some muffled sound could be heard in the outside world. Even if she decided she didn’t value her eardrums, nobody could judge her for her terrible music taste.

She was tired of scrolling for songs, so she hit “Shuffle” and let whatever tune seize her thoughts

AJR - I Won’t

She slipped into it the way she did with everything. Her body bounced to the beat. The lyrics resonated—AJR never failed to resonate with her feelings and the beat never failed to compliment her nonstop mind.

It always felt like a million things were happening in that beat. The base drops caught her before her spirals could seize her and threw her back on the drug that is music.

Her feet shifted like they were born for nothing else except this moment. Her hips swayed to the music the way they had since the first time she’d heard a melody. She moved through the song until it fell away into dreadful silence.

The lull.

The lull between songs was always the danger zone. If the next song was sad, it could drag her into the spiral. If it failed to catch her, she could simply fall.

The Crane Wives - Never Love an Anchor.

Good enough. Comforting. Soothing. A deceptively simple beat with vocals that cradled broken minds. She’d never met anyone who both liked The Crane Wives and also didn’t have any use for therapy. One to talk, insomniac. She thought with a snicker. 

She laid back down on her bed, thoughts scattered in between the lyric. Tomorrow wouldn’t be any better. It never was.

The one thing music couldn’t do for her was delude her into believing something as stupid as that. All it could do was distract her until it inevitably arrived.

She picked her phone back up and scrolled on Youtube. A channel she liked had uploaded a new video about the evolution of the bone-crushing dogs.

It’s long.

Perfect.

Anything to hold her mind at bay until tomorrow. 

When Zoey woke up again—she must’ve dozed off at some point—it wasn’t to her alarm. Right, today’s Saturday. Instead, she woke up to arguing. She sighed as she climbed out of bed and walked into the hallway. She turned and went down the stairs.

Her parents went silent as they both turned to see her. Something about today was already too much.

“Morning.” Zoey waved her hand as she scaled the last few steps and grabbed the closest box of cereal. She found a bowl and poured the cereal in.

She would have gone to get milk; but her dad was leaning against the fridge door. She grabbed a spoon, deciding to just eat it dry.

They kept talking, voices hushed as she sat down in the living room and took spoonfuls of chocolate chex. Y’all couldn’t have been this quiet while I was asleep? She silently asked with a bitter pill stuck in her tone.

“It’s just an audition, Jack.”

Oh. This is my fault.

Again.

“No it’s not. You’re just dragging her toward yourself. She belongs here. Stop trying to force Korea on her!”

“Jack, I-“

“She’s better off here!”

“She asked me to set it up! She begged me to, Jack!”

The silence swallowed her. Did I forget to tell her not to tell Dad?

“Hey, Zoe, can you come out here a sec?”

You’re such an idiot.

Just play dumb. You clearly have no problem being dumb. Should be easy.

“Wassup, Dad?” Zoey said, swallowing her last bite of cereal. Her heart went still as she glanced between her parents.

“Did you want that audition? The one in Korea?”

Zoey looked at the floor, “Audition?”

”The one you talked about last night, aegiya.”

Zoey nodded.

No way to play dumb here anymore…

She shrugged. “Yeah, kinda. It’s just, y'know I’ll be there anyway, and plus it’s Sunlight-“

“See? She wants it, Jack!”

“Yeah, yeah whatever. Go ahead then. Take her to Korea. Keep her there if it means so much to you. What’s an audition gonna do for her, Hana? Music isn’t going to make money. She’s better off going to college here.”

Her blood started boiling. She knew this feeling.

Oh god.

Stop that.

I don’t wanna panic right now.

Deep breaths. Come on, Zoey!

Can’tbreathecan’tbreathecan’tbreathe

Stop freaking out, okay, the-uh, the objects thing!

Can’tbreathecan’tbreathecan’tbreathe

Three green objects. Find three green things!

One, the picture of the turtle! Okay… two…

It’s not working!

Why is nothing green in this stupid house?!?

Why are they still yelling?!?

Stop yelling! 

Stop fighting!

“She’s musical, Jack! I’m sorry if it makes you angry that she takes after-“

“STOP IT!” Zoey’s voice scared her. It reverberated off the walls like it was a sledgehammer. She could barely see, tears spilling down her cheeks. “God! Why can’t you just stop it?”

“Zoe-“

“No! I mean it! All you do is fight and fight and I can’t take it any more! You always make it about you! New flash, it’s not always about you!” Zoey’s fist throbbed, Did I punch the table? The thought was quickly lost as more words spilled out.

“That audition? I wanted to do it. Is that a crime? It’s not about me liking Korea more or being more like Eomma or me throwing away my future. I just wanted to do something for me! That was it! But you went and twisted it so that it was about you two! It’s not fair!”

She was sobbing, her heart pounding too fast and too throbbingly to be normal. Her lungs shook with every breath—if they could even be called breaths. They sounded in Zoey’s ears like the dying wheezes of a disembowled gazelle—Thanks for that, Youtube.

“It’s not… it’s not fair! God! If you guys hate each other so much why don’t you just get divorced already?”

She froze. She hadn’t meant to say that word.

Divorce.

She hadn’t meant to say it. Her words just ran out on their own. She wished she hadn’t said it. For years, the ice had been thin and melting further by the day. But that single word turned the cracks into splits. And now they were falling. All because she said the word. It was over.

Her parents were going to divorce. 

And it was because of her.

————

Almost two weeks had passed. Zoey smiled at the plane ticket as she held Eomma’s hand, trying to forget the fact that while she would come back home in September, her eomma wouldn’t. 

“Eomma?” The woman glanced down at Zoey with a warm expression. “Is it too late to schedule the audition?” She’d avoided asking, knowing the answer, for the last two months, but now that the chance was all but gone she couldn’t hold herself back. 

Selfish, are we?

Can’t we wait until the flight for this?

She expected her eomma to shake her head and say “Zoey, it’s too late.” or something like that.

Instead, the woman knelt down, put her hand on Zoey’s shoulder, and smiled. “I was going to leave it until we landed, as a surprise.” Zoey felt her heartbeat triple, and she couldn’t control the smile that grew so big that it hurt her cheeks. “YOU SET IT UP??”

“I set it up the day after you asked me. I couldn’t say no.” Eomma winked, “I love you, my little aegiya.”

“THANK YOU! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!” Zoey leapt up and wrapped herself around her eomma’s waist. “I love you so much, Eomma! Thank you!”

The pair were giddy as they waited for their boarding group. It took all of Zoey’s energy not to jump on the chairs and scream that she had the chance to meet Celine of THE SUNLIGHT SISTERS!

The plane couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Text

Mira found herself at the studio an hour earlier than an early bird would have shown up. She sat in the waiting room, seeing girl after girl with audition numbers way smaller than hers—104. 

In the last half-hour they only let a group of 15 into the audition room.

Groups of fifteen every half-hour. Each audition must be only two-minutes. Mira guessed that each group probably had the chance to warm up while the previous group was actually doing their auditions. Not that she’d need it; she was already stretching in her seat and got up whenever her nerves acted up. 

So, in reality, she barely sat at all. Each minute crawled by like it simply relished in the torture of making a girl wait to learn if she had a future or not.

At 11:30, her nerves drove her to double check her steps in her routine, and she found herself back in the chair by 11:32. 

At 11:34 she jumped up again to find a drinking fountain. She found at the end of the hallway and was back in her seat before 11:35

At 11:36, she got up again to do a thorough stretch. She was about to sit back down at 11:38 when instead, she decided to double check that she had everything, as though she hadn’t been carrying her new “everything” on her back for the past two days.

At 11:41, she stared at her contacts, wondering if she should call her father. If she wasn’t in public she might have punched herself for having such a stupid thought.

At 11:43, she was pacing the hallway for what was undoubtedly ten minutes at the very least. By the time she sat back down, it was 11:46. 

She got up again to stretch at 11:47. She sat down again at 11:50. 

It was still 11:50 when she got up to go to the bathroom, bringing her bag with her—no way in hell was she trusting a bunch of strangers with all her belongings. 

At 11:54, she finished washing her hands and walked back out to her seat.

Only to find some random girl sitting in it. Her nerves tensed. 

That little… I wasn’t even gone for five minutes!

Mira stormed right up to her, “Hey.” She said curtly. 

The girl looked up from her notebook, smiled, and quickly spat out “Hi! MynameisZoeyit’ssonicetomeetyou!” Then she saw Mira’s audition number stuck onto her thigh. “You’re auditioning too? That’s so cool! I can’t wait to meet Celine, I’ve loved the Sunlight Sisters for as long as I can remember! My eomma loved them so much! Hey by the-“

Shut up already so I can tell you to move! Mira thought. The girl just kept rambling. Does she ever stop talking? Mira’s eyes flicked downward at the girl’s notebook, a movement meant only to be a meaningless glance. But now she couldn’t stop staring, her eyes stuck to the page

No fucking way. 

Mira grabbed it from the chair in an instant. The girl barely even existed in her peripheral. Her eyes were locked onto that drawing. It’s the same. How? How is this even possible?

“Hey! What gives?” Zoey reached for it, but Mira backed up. 

The lines, the tree, is the girl in here too? How did this—who the hell is this kid? Why does she know this?

Does she know more?

“Where did you see this tree?” Mira interrogated. “Those lines? Where?”

“Give it back!” Zoey leapt up and caught a hold of it, tearing it from Mira’s grasp. Mira was stunned by how quickly the girl had moved. 

Mira’s mind slipped only partially from the reality-shattering daze. Why did I do that? That was way out of line... 

“Sor-, I… Zoey, was it?” She tried to apologize, but the look in the small girl’s eyes made her jaw lock.

Her entire demeanor had changed from bubbly to downright feral. She held the notebook to her chest as though it were her child and Mira had tried to kill it. “Don’t touch my notebook.” She said it like a threat, her voice came out as almost a snarl. It was like she was in full flight-or-fight mode, and leaning heavily toward fight.

What the hell? Why- Oh, forget it.

“Yeah okay fine. Whatever. Where did you see that tree?” Mira asked again.

Zoey peeked at the page again, shuffling her feet uncomfortably. The ferocity melted away, and in its place was a hesitant kind of terror that felt both too familiar and too foreign. She felt a pang of guilt—which she quickly shoved down as Zoey opened her mouth again. “I… it’s stupid. It was just from some dream.”

A dream. How. The. F-

Someone walked into the hallway, “Entrants seventy-six to ninety! Come on now!” Zoey glanced down at her own number, which Mira would have read, if she wasn’t busy trying to figure out what in the actual cosmic fuck was happening. 

“I… I gotta go.” The girl backed away and bolted into the room. 

“No! Wait!” Mira yelled, but the girl either ignored her or didn’t hear her. Mira sat down, the thick feeling of confusion and defeat settling in her chest. She had to talk to that girl again. Did they have the same dream? Who even was she? Had Mira seen her before?

No, I’ve never seen anyone like her before.

She sat, her nerves wired so tightly she could have suffered a heart attack right there in that chair. She stretched again, and again. She didn’t even bother to sit back in the chair.

Black hair. Twin buns. Two longer tufts of hair that hung around her face. Brown eyes. Freckles. Casual, punk-like clothing—like a hiphop dancer or something. Every detail of the girl’s appearance flashed into Mira’s mind again, quickly being assembled into an image of her face for later recall. 

One after another, girls filtered out, just as they had. One every two minutes. Like clockwork. 

Mira checked the time every time one exited, wishing she’d thought to read the girl’s number.

12:02, 12:04, 12:06, 12:08, 12:10, 12:12, 12:16- There it was.

Nobody left at 12:14. Who was that? Number 82. Not that Mira had any idea who that was. But as each girl trickled by, Mira became more and more sure that the girl—Zoey, that was her name—wouldn’t be walking out. She felt it in her soul. 

Then her group was called. She knew she was second to last, and she resigned herself to mindlessly stretching while she desperately tried to stitch together some thread of logic between everything that had happened.

When her number was called, she stepped out onto the stage, and just as she was about to start the routine, she caught sight of the two peole sitting at the table.

The older was a woman with dark hair and a gaze so critical it reminded Mira of her own mother’s scowl. Despite the expression, Mira vaguely recognized her. Some performer from a band she couldn’t quite place. She remembered Zoey’s senseless babbling.

Celine, I guess? Mira mentally shrugged off the thought. It didn’t really matter. She was ready to fully abandon interest in judging the judges and just start dancing until she locked eyes with her.

She was pretty. A sweet face that looked like it could take on any expression it wanted. Thick locks of purple hair held under control with a braid that draped over the girl’s shoulder and curled in her lap.

But none of that mattered except her eyes. Those big, brown doe eyes that Mira knew she’d seen before.

“You.” Mira breathed, but the word was barely audible—there was no way anyone except her heard it.

I know you.

The girl broke eye contact, and looked at the dark-haired woman.

“It’s her.” 

The woman leaned in. Mira couldn’t hear what she said, but whatever it was, the girl nodded ecstatically in response, her eyes shifted back toward Mira as she did so. Looking at her like she’d never been a stranger.

She knows me.

“To think they were so close together. I thought we’d have to look for longer.” 

I know her, and she knows me.

Mira’s mind was still engrossed within the fog that had settled over her the moment she locked eyes with that girl. She formed words in her mouth, but every fiber of her being told her. You’re here. You made it. You know those eyes. You know that girl. She knows you.

“Um… should… I do my routine?” Mira forced herself to ask, but she felt this undercurrent in the room that a decision was already final.

The woman clapped her hands together. “There will be no need. Come. We have much to discuss.”

Chapter Text

“Welcome to the Sanctuary.” Celine said, holding her hand out as she put the car in park.

Mira glanced over at Zoey, who met her gaze with an expression of confusion. 

Mira mouthed: We really doing this? 

Zoey shrugged. How can she be that laid back about this? 

“Rumi, help them with their bags, get them settled into their rooms.”

“Yes, Celine.” Rumi slid out of the front seat and clicked the trunk open. Most—actually, all—of the stuff in the trunk belonged to Zoey. Mira had only brought her backpack, and she wasn’t letting anyone else touch it.

The novelty and confusion of today, the feeling of connectedness that Mira didn’t understand, and just… all of it… had simmered away. Now, she was left with her tried and true instinct: distrust.

Everything was strange. Not necessarily bad, but it felt very unnatural in Mira’s brain. Even if she shunted away all the dreams, the tree and the lines and the song.

She could shove it all off, mark almost all of it down into: 

Of course I’ve probably seen Ryu Rumi at least once. The Sunlight sisters were famous, of course a daughter of one of the members would get some screen time.

Dreams are weird. So what if there was a tree and a song? What’s it matter? Probably a jingle from somewhere, who knows? Who cares about a big tree?

Except that she barely even remembered that the Sunlight sisters even existed.

And that she and Zoey had apparently both seen the exact same giant tree in separate dreams while the other girl was halfway across the world.

They even both knew the lullaby-

Mira shook her head. I’m so not doing this right now.

Luckily, Zoey’s voice distracted her.

“Man, I’m so relieved my eomma actually signed the consent form! I did NOT think that would happen at all!” Zoey said with a chuckle. “What about you? Your parents fight you on it, too?”

“Um, a little, yeah.” Mira mumbled. She was trying really hard not to think about them. She wondered if they’d even bothered to see where she was. Nobody had called her in the past three days. They could have tracked her. Could have followed, dragged her back kicking and screaming.

If they had wanted her back, which they clearly didn’t.

She grabbed a couple suitcases—between her, Zoey, and Rumi, they’d moved all of Zoey’s things into the house. Zoey ran into the first of the two empty rooms and threw herself onto the bed.

“I lay claim to this domain!” She said with a giddy chuckle.

What a weirdo. Mira thought, shoving down the odd feeling in her chest that made her want to smile. There was literally no good reason to smile right now.

Mira turned toward Rumi, wanting to ask her to explain why everything felt so off, but the moment she made eye contact with Rumi, the girl ducked her head and skittered out of the room without a word.

Okay, then? Mira turned back toward Zoey. “Want help unpacking?”

“Sure!” 

Mira unlatched the nearest suitcase, and found what looked like a serial killer’s trophy collection. Everything from plushies to CDs to rubber bands. “Where do you want… all of… this?”

Zoey leaned over to see into the suitcase. “Oh, that’s the miscellaneous one.” She laughed. “I’ll take care of it later. Just a bunch of knickknacks and stuff, y’know?”

“Okay.” Mira shrugged, and opened the next suitcase, filled with unfolded clothes. “Here, open your dresser.” Mira lifted it onto the bed. “You really lean into the punk style, huh?”

“Eh, sometimes.” Zoey shifted over and started plucking things out, one by one. “Shirt,” she said as she shot it basketball style onto the floor.

“That’s a shirt, you’re a shirt, you’re a sh—ah, nice try, pants.” She murmured as she threw them all into piles on the ground. Mira slid off the bed and went about folding them, getting the feeling that Zoey wasn’t going to. “You know they wrinkle if you don’t fold them.”

“It’s part of my shtick.”

Mira sat for a while, folding the shirts as Zoey tossed them over carelessly. The domesticity of being in the room of someone who was basically a stranger, folding her clothes, all fit too perfectly into the mess of weird that had all but consumed her life. “Hey, Zoey.”

“Wassup?”

“What do you think’s really going on here?”

Zoey’s face lost the playfulness, slipping into something deeper. “I have no idea. At all. Everything about this is weird. I don’t know why we’re moving into some house in the mountains, or why Rumi won’t talk to either of us. Is she shy? Is she mute? Does she not like us? I have no idea and it’s definitely not making me want to scream a little-“

Zoey paused for a moment, panting a little, before she look a long sigh and continued.

“I still wonder about the dreams. They were real. They tied us all together, Mira. Something is happening and it’s not normal… but I… I don’t know.” Zoey took a breath, “This is my dream. Being a performer for Sunlight Entertainment? I never thought I could ever even get out of California, much less get all the way here.”

She’s from California… huh. Mira noted.

“I don’t know, but even though everything is weird and I have no idea what’s going on… I just, sorta want something to keep me here.”

Mira froze. The last thing she had expected was for this bundle of too much energy and too many quirks to say aloud exactly what Mira was feeling underneath the doubt.

Her skepticism was her armor, instinctive attire whenever her presence was perceivable. That instinctive part of her desperately wanted to run away from this place that seemed to have its hooks too deep. 

The rest of her begged for the armor to be shattered. Begged for something to hold her here—trap her, even, if that’s what it took. She needed a good reason to stay. Anything other than a red flag.

A light tapping at the door drew their attention. The girl—Rumi—was standing there, one hand in a loose fist against the wall, and the other coiling the drawstring of her shorts around her finger. “Celine would like us all to come outside.” Her voice was flat, eerie. 

What the hell is wrong with her? Mira glanced over at Zoey, who looked just as uneasy. This girl’s a freak.

Nevertheless, the two got up and followed Rumi outside. Celine was standing on the porch as they stepped outside. “Okay, you two may want to sit for this.”

Oh. Sure. This isn’t unsettling at all.

“You three will become a trio idol group. That much you know.” Celine said, every word struck Mira’s ear like it had been chosen very meticulously. “But there is more to this than just singing and dancing.”

“What do you mean?” Zoey asked.

“There’s no easy way to say this. So, I think it’s easiest to show you something first. Rumi?”

Rumi stepped forward and held out her hand like it was gonna do something. Mira could have laughed. 

That is, if it weren’t for the lines of blue that zipped around Rumi’s hand for an instant before a literal fucking sword appeared in her grasp.

“What the?” Mira gasped.

“We are hunters as well as idols.” Rumi said, her voice still just as flat and emotionless as it had been since they got into the car. “Demon hunters.”

“Rumi.” Celine’s tone was razor sharp, and Mira watched Rumi react to the stab, her shoulders shifting with tension as her head lowered. 

“Uhh…” Zoey’s jaw hung open, “You’re like… joking, right?”

“No.” Celine answered. “My trio, the Sunlight Sisters, was the last trio of Hunters. I wanted to ease you into this—” She shot Rumi another look, and she shrank even more.

Mira felt a jab of guilt for thinking she was a freak. Right now she looked like she might cry. 

Why the hell is that what I’m focusing on?

“—but I’ll start at the beginning.” Celine said.

“Demons have always haunted our world. They attack innocent people, stealing their souls.”

Zoey leaned forward like she was about to sell her soul to something. Mira elbowed her. Snap out of it, you’re the only other sane person here! 

“These souls are channeled back to the king of demons; Gwi Ma.” Celine continued. “But one day, three women discovered that their voices held a power the demons could not rival. Their voices—their song—could unite the souls of people, and the union of their souls created a barrier between the human realm and the demon realm. This barrier is the Honmoon.”

The silence that started to stretch was suffocating. That’s… so stupid… what?

“O-Okay, so… to recap… that. Demons are real, you,” Mira pointed at Rumi, “can just pull swords out of thin air, and you people expect me to believe that singing creates a magical barrier that stops demons?”

“That about sums it up.” Celine answered with a chuckle. “This is… a lot to take in. I understand if you don’t believe a word of it right now.”

Yeah, no shit, I don’t believe a word of it.

“Tomorrow; we will start training, and you’ll begin to see things you never thought possible. But all I’ve said is true.”

Mira stared at Rumi, whose eyes stayed low. Not quite at the floor, but moreso like she was very interested in the lowest boards on the wall. “Hey.” Mira said.

Rumi looked up. 

“Why do you believe this shit?”

She looked at the sword in her hand. “It’s obvious.” She replied. Tone flat. Almost egotistical.

Mira wanted to punch her, but she forced her gaze to Zoey. “Zoey?”

She didn’t respond. Her eyes flicked back and forth between spots on the ground, like she was way too deep in thought. Is she buying this shit? What cultist crap is this?

“What a freak show.” Mira muttered as she stood up, shoved the door open and walked inside. She walked to her room, her mind made up. Good thing I never unpacked. She thought.

She could get the hell out of here. Right now.

Her stomach growled.

Her eyelids felt too heavy.

She fell back on the bed in the room that was supposed to be hers. If she took off now she’d probably pass out on the way down the mountain. She could get dinner from them. That was probably safe.

There was paperwork that said she was here. A form she’d forged her mother’s signature onto when she lied and said the witch was in the other room. 

I’ll get a free dinner, some sleep, and then I’ll dip. I’ll just have to figure out something else.

A thought tried to seed itself into her brain, but Mira stomped it out. Absolutely not. I’m not going home.

. . . . . . . . . .

Dinner was—admittedly—really good. Rumi, as silent and weird and eerily robotic as she was, knew how to make some good food.

The japchae was perfectly seasoned, savory and sweet dancing harmoniously on her tongue. Mira thought if there was any left over, she might steal it before she took off later in the night.

True to her plan, she packed up the few things she’d removed from her bag for the sake of necessity: a charger to recharge her phone, and her old clothes that she’d since changed out of. 

She was ready to go. 

All she needed now was a little bit of sleep…

. . . . . . . . . .

For the first time in two weeks she didn’t have the dream. 

When she woke up, the world shrouded in darkness, she thought she was having it. She could hear the voice singing.

“We are Hunters, voices strong.”

“If I keep hearing that fuckass song.” Mira growled under her breath as she opened her window.

“Slaying demons with our song.”

She slid out of it, backpack in hand. 

“Fix the world, and make it right.”

She crept around the side of the hanok until she saw Rumi, standing in the middle of the arena. 

“When darkness finally meets the light.”

And then it happened. A single pulse from Rumi as her voice took hold of the last note. Blue lines, out like a wave. They flowed along the ground softly. And Mira felt the armor crack.

This was real.

This was the Honmoon.

And she’d seen it before.

“Holy…” Mira couldn’t find words. The feeling under her ribs called out to her. Begged her: Don’t leave! You’re where you must be!

It was her talking. Her own gut telling her she shouldn’t—no—couldn’t leave. 

She climbed back into her window, and laid in her bed, feeling like she was dangling on the edge of a cliff, with no way of knowing if anything could catch her if she fell.

——————

Celine’s words rocked Zoey’s mind like an earthquake—and she’d been in an actual earthquake before. 

Her mind instantly tore into two halves.

I knew something was different

Oh good god, this is such crap!

This explains everything!

This is insane!

But it makes sense! The dreams, the lines, that might be the Honmoon!

Manson made more sense than this looney-bin story, you idiot!

But this explains why I feel different.

A lot of things explain why you feel different. This is just the dumbest of them. You’re not actually thinking of believing this, are you?

But it’s Celine—

Just because she’s famous doesn’t mean this isn’t crazy!

Mira muttered something before storming off, but Zoey couldn’t make out what it was. She looked up at Rumi and Celine, who stood with awkward stillness, like they weren’t really sure what do to. 

Join the club. Zoey thought.

. . . . . . . . . .

As they ate dinner—the best japchae Zoey ever had—her mind was wandering, lost between a reality she knew and this new one that she wasn’t even sure existed.

But… she had always felt like something was off. She’d always written it off, shrugged it away, but the feeling was staying now. It was real, and undeniable, and Zoey didn’t know how to react to it.

Too much tied together for her to simply deny it all. None of this was possible unless this new reality truly was reality. If there was no Honmoon, how did it explain Mira’s dreams being the same as hers? If music didn’t play into it, why did they hear the same song?

Too much. Too many threads that connected too well. When Rumi made that sword appear out of nowhere… 

This is real. It’s gotta be. 

————————————————

They were finally here. She’d found them. The two with whom she was destined to spend forever.

“Zoey and Mira’s parents signed their consent forms. They’ll be coming back with us”.

Rumi felt the joy bubbling. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so excited!” Rumi murmured.

They walked to the car, Mira and Zoey buckled into the backseat. She met eyes with them, and she was about to wave, when something gripped her. Something she’d really never felt before.

What if I shouldn’t wave? What if I do it wrong?

What should I do?

What should I say?

She had no idea. She didn’t know the rules here. She was in a jungle at night, blindfolded. Any step could land her into a hole or into the jaws of a lurking predator. She could smack into a tree, or get tangled in vines. She had no idea what to do. 

She lowered her head, hoping her heart would stop pounding so hard.

She helped carry Zoey’s bags to her new room. As she set the ones she’d been carrying down, Mira entered with the rest of it. Zoey was sprawled on her new bed.

The three of them.

Together.

And Rumi didn’t know what to do. Fear started grabbing at her again with clawed hands. So. she ran from the feeling—away from them. The people she’d waited years to meet, and she was running.

Why?

What is wrong with me?

Celine wanted to ease into telling them today. “You’ll summon your sword, and we’ll see how they react. I don’t know if either will adjust very well.”

Rumi nodded. Summon sword. Okay. 

“Go in and get them, meet me on the porch.”

Yes, Celine.”

She went to Zoey’s room, where both she and Mira were unpacking the former’s suitcases. She lightly tapped at the door. “Celine would like us all to come outside.” She said, putting all her power into not making it obvious how scared she was. 

She turned as they started following, happy to have her back to them. She slid open the door and they walked out. Celine told them to sit, and she said words that Rumi’s brain wouldn’t hold on to no matter how hard she tried. So much fear collected in her chest.

They have every reason to hate half of you

They don’t know about it

They also don’t really have a reason to like the other half… do they?

They probably think you’re a monster. 

I’m not…

Aren't you, though?

“Rumi?”

Reflexively she snapped to attention, stepping forward and feeling the Honmoon’s pulse. She ran her fingers along it, and she drew out her Saingeom. They looked so confused. I should try to explain.

“We are hunters, as well as idols.” Rumi said. “Demon hunters.”

“Rumi!” Celine’s eyes met hers for half a second, the glare so pointed that even as Celine looked back at Zoey and Mira, Rumi still felt the sharp sting from it.

Why did I say that?

That was so stupid!

No shocker here. What else would a mistake do except make mistakes?

She tried to pretend that she hadn’t just screwed up everything. She tried to pretend that Mira wasn’t staring at her with an expression she didn’t understand. Tries to pretend that she had shriveled up into a ball and was gone from this world.

“Uhh” Zoey’s voice was higher than usual, “You’re like… joking, right?”

“No. My trio, the Sunlight Sisters, was the last trio of Hunters. I wanted to ease you into this—“

Another glare.

Another knife in Rumi’s chest. Another reminder of her screwup. 

“—But I’ll start at the beginning.”

Mistake. 

“Demons have always haunted our world. They would attack innocent people, stealing their souls.”

Mistake.

“These souls would be channeled back to the king of demons; Gwi Ma.” 

Are they showing? No. I checked.

“But one day, three women discovered that their voices held a power the demons could not rival. Their voices—their song—could unite the souls of people, and the union of their souls created a barrier between the human realm and the demon realm. This barrier is the Honmoon”

Stop thinking so hard, Celine’s talking!

They already hate you.

I don’t want to be here. I thought it would be different. I thought I’d know what to do…

I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know what to say.

I don’t know anything.

I don’t know.

I don’t know!

“Hey.” Mira’s voice slashed through her. Harsh, blunt, hateful.

She met Mira’s gaze and forced herself to hold it. It was almost impossible, her eyes were like surgical tools that sliced into her methodically. “Why do you believe this shit?

Rumi looked at her sword. They saw her summon it, shouldn’t that have told them it was believable? Wasn’t that the point? The Honmoon was always there. Could they not feel it? If Rumi focused she could feel it react to their presence.

“It’s… obvious.” She answered. She would have elaborated, except Mira’s eyes sharpened into something really scary.

Should I not have said that?

“Zoey?” Mira looked toward the other girl, but Rumi could see Zoey hadn’t been listening.

“What a freak show.” Mira stormed back into the hanok. Rumi didn’t let herself flinch at the hard slam of the door. 

Zoey was staring at her now, her eyes scanning her up and down, her eyes locking into the sword. “I’m gonna… go…” She got up and looked between her and Celine before she slipped back inside, carefully shutting the door behind her.

It was just her and Celine. “I’m sorry.” Rumi murmured.

“That was too blunt, Rumi. Were you even thinking?”

“I’m sorry.” She repeated again. “I’m new to… this…” 

Celine sighed. “We’ll just have to do damage control.”

Damage control. She’d done damage. She damaged it. Ruined it. She’d done everything wrong today.

She walked into the hanok. It would be time for dinner soon. And she really needed to do something right. Cooking a half-decent dinner was her only shot.

She chopped the carrots, peppers, onion and mushrooms with practiced ease. She blanched a handful of spinach, then boiled the water for the dangyeum. sautéed the vegetables and mixed it all together with a sweet soy-based sauce. 

Zoey was the first to the table, Mira a few steps behind her, “Japchae? No way, that’s my favorite!” Zoey froze for a second, looking at Rumi cautiously, "Did you know that?”

“N-no… today’s Monday.” She answered. “Monday dinners have always been Japchae.”

“Ah, okay.” Zoey sighed as she relaxed into the seat.

Mira sat next to her, her face emotionless. Rumi started making up bowls as Celine walked in. Rumi straightened as Celine glanced over all of them. Then, she sat down without a word.

Rumi passed out the bowls, and they started eating, the silence thick and unbreakable. Rumi hoped Celine would say something, but for whatever reason, she didn’t. 

Mira ate like it was her last meal. 

Zoey was the only one who dared to finally say something.

 “Hoky wowza, this is awesome! Did you make it?” She looked at Rumi. She gave a nod in response.

“You’re a great chef!” Zoey exclaimed.

“Yeah, it’s good.” Mira said quietly, her gaze never moving from the table.

Rumi didn’t know if she should say anything, but she couldn’t stop the urge to smile at the praise. She hid it by chewing on a mouthful until it was mush in her mouth.

You don’t deserve to feel happy after earlier. You screwed everything up. Just like you always do. Yet another mistake.

The thought had teeth, and she didn’t have a smile to worry about hiding anymore.

Later that night, she found herself outside. The air was just barely cool in the absence of the August sun. Guilt was still consuming her for messing up earlier. At least dinner went well… ish. 

She didn’t know what to do to get rid of her feelings. She didn’t want them. She couldn’t want them. You have a mission. She reminded herself. So focus. 

She took in a breath and sang the song Celine had taught her. It was always a strangely soothing tune to her. A calming song to lay her thoughts to rest.

“We are Hunters, voices strong.

Slaying demons with our song.

Fix the world, and make it right,

When darkness finally meets the light.”

She felt the Honmoon pulse under her feet as she finished the verse.

“Rumi. It’s late.” Celine’s voice made the chill dig under her skin. 

”Sorry.”

“It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. You don’t want to be tired.”

Rumi nodded in response and walked back onto the porch. “Good night, Rumi.” Celine called after her. 

“Good night.” Rumi responded as she slipped inside and slid the door closed.

Chapter Text

Mira knelt down beside Rumi and Zoey. Celine stood in front of them. “Take a deep breath. The Honmoon is there. You just need to learn how to sense it.”

Two weeks ago the world stopped making any sense at all. Mira tried to obey the instructions. Focus. She told herself as she dragged her fingers along the sand. She imagined the blue lines like she’d seen them in dreams, and when Rumi sang. 

They’d been doing this every day, for hours at a time. Kneeling and pawing at the ground so maybe the Honmoon would respond. Mira always heard the shimmering to her left as Rumi’s saingeom threaded into existence. She and Zoey had made little progress. 

She tried to remember the feeling she’d had in those dreams. It was so much more prominent in the unrestrained realm of sleep. There, it was a physical pull that was nearly impossible to resist. 

She imagined running toward the tree again, the way those lines had danced around her feet as she ran into the woods. The way her heartbeat echoed in her ears when she made eye contact with Rumi. The lull that she couldn’t resist.

She felt her fingers tingle with unseen energy. She opened her eyes to see the threads swirling at her fingertips. She tried to imagine anything at all, any kind of weapon. Her mind fell onto one that was mounted decoratively on the wall in her parents’ house: a gok-do.

Just like that, the lines whipped into each other and the weight, though it wasn’t actually all that heavy, caught her arm off guard and she nearly dropped it. The shaft was golden, the curved blade bore the same bright blue glow as Rumi’s. Wow.

To think she’d almost run away. She felt a terror rise in her stomach; What if I’d actually gone through with it? I’d probably be dead by now, or wishing for it.

Or I’d be home. She realized with a shudder.

“Very good, Mira.” Celine knelt down. “A gok-do is a difficult weapon to wield, but a hunter’s weapon is always something that resonates within her soul.”

Zoey stared at the gok-do in awe. “Whoa. How’d you do that?”

“I just kinda leaned into it.” Mira mumbled.

Zoey focused harder than ever. Mira watched her, but the girl quickly became impatient and slapped the ground. “Stupid Honmoon.” She muttered.

“Don’t bully the Honmoon.” Mira mocked. Zoey pouted a little in response. 

“You’ll get the hang of it, in time.” Celine reassured her. “Mira, come. We’ll work out your fighting style, now that you’ve summoned your weapon.”

“Okay.” Mira got up, unsure of how to hold the weapon as she walked.

They walked up the stone steps, the flower-lined trail back to the hanok quickly swallowing them both. Mira glanced around, wondering what other secrets this place may hold. 

She’d been holding her gokdo horizontally with both hands. She shifted it so that she was holding it, blade up, with one hand.

As they rounded the bend halfway through the trail, Mira readjusted again, propping it across her shoulders for only a few seconds before discomfort made her return to her earlier grip.

By the time she settled on simply leaning it against her collarbone, they were standing in the arena.

Just her and Celine.

She felt uneasy under the woman’s gaze. All she knew about Celine was that she was famous, very strong, and unsettling in a quiet way. Almost like Rumi, except a little more practiced in her stone-cold gaze.

“So… what do I do?” Mira asked.

“Simple. We’re going to fight.” Celine walked over to the fence, and grabbed a wooden sword leaning up against it.

Tell me I heard her wrong.

Um… what? “Fight?”

“Yes. The best way to learn is through experience.”

Welp. Shit. Heard her right.

I’m so about to get my ass kicked by a pop star… “Fine. It’s your funeral.” Mira gripped the gok-do and charged.

The distance felt infinite as Mira thought.

Should I try to swing? Or stab?

I should swing, covers more area, right?

Maybe?

I am so about to get my ass kicked. This is gonna hurt.

Mira settled on readying a swing, gripping her hands tight. As she came into range she braced her arms and drove them across her body, the gok-do following in a gorgeous arch. She focused on Celine.

Only Celine was gone from her view. 

And the swing kept going. the head of the gok-do pulled Mira clockwise with its momentum. She had grossly underestimated the force was. 

The loss of control had been momentary. Mere seconds, nothing more. She only staggered for a second to regain herself, but apparently it was more than enough for Celine.

She reappeared at Mira’s side, low and lethal. Her leg shot out, the brunt of her heel catching mira right in her ankle.

Pain shot up and down her leg as she gave into the impact, her knee buckling for the ground.

A hand guided her there violently. The next thing she knew, her cheek was on the ground, the gok-do was somewhere beside her, her left hand was twisted behind her back.

“I hope you realize your mistake?” Celine’s voice above her made Mira feel inexplicably humiliated. 

“It’s got more swing than I thought?” Mira said as she spit dirt out of her mouth.

“In simple terms, yes.” 

Celine released her, and Mira scooped the gok-do back up.

“Try again.” The older woman said as she waved her fingers toward herself.

Mira took a moment to breathe. She could tell Celine was dialing it back. She’d seen how the woman moved when fighting Rumi. She was definitely holding back.

That’s not going to save me here, though.

I’ve gotta fake her out. Now that I know how hard this thing swings, maybe I can pull off a fake.

She charged again, eyes zeroing in on Celine’s right arm. I need her to dodge left.

She tightened her grip like she was going to swing it again, but at the last moment Mira forced the gok-do forward in a line drive toward Celine’s right side. Celine quickly sidestepped toward her left.

Bingo.

Mira planted her foot to stop her forward momentum and twisted the jab back into a swing. It was a slower transition than what she’d imagined. Celine effortlessly dodged it again, but Mira could see a flicker of shock on Celine’s face.

Ha. Not so bad at this after all.

She got another idea: Never waste a startle. Midswing, she abandoned her grip on the gok-do and lunged at Celine like she was a schoolyard bully. Her hand felt far more comfortable in a fist than it did holding a weapon.

This was her niche of combat. Practiced, explosive, immature violence that had been her liberation for the past six years of her life.

Celine didn’t dodge this one. Mira’s fist connected with her shoulder as she tackled the older woman.

It worked!

…For a moment.

Celine’s palm pressed against Mira’s ribs and shoved her hard. The force threw Mira over Celine’s head and through the air.

The ground smashed into her, the impact ripping the air from her lungs. 

Ow. Crap. She tried to breathe, but her body wouldn’t let her. She felt her eyes tearing up, begging for oxygen as she gulped down empty space. It felt like an eternity before air suddenly rushed into her again. She wheezed a few times before her breathing felt stable again. 

“You landed a hit.” Celine said, her voice was level, not quite critical. “That said, that move is suicide against demons. You can’t kill a demon with just your fist.”

Ah, there’s the critical.

Mira wanted to duck her head down, but she forced herself to maintain eye-contact. She wasn’t Rumi, and she wasn’t going to shrink the way Rumi did every time Celine spoke.

“It’s good that you’re versatile, a gok-do is a weapon that demands versatility. But you also must remember that while you’re training here will be against stationary dummies or people, your future battles will be against demons.”

Mira nodded, her jaw feeling stiff.

“And demons won’t just trip you, or throw you. They will try to kill you. So, remain versatile, but become versatile with your weapon, not without it. Understand?”

Mira nodded. “Yeah… I got it.” She turned to pick up her gok-do, only to find it gone.

“Where did it go?”

“You dismissed it.” Celine answered.

“I what?”

“The weapon isn’t permanent. When you dismiss it, the Honmoon reabsorbs its energy. You have to summon it again.”

“Crap! I barely know how I did it in the first place…” Mira muttered. She started walking back toward the tree, where Zoey and Rumi still were.

“You can summon your weapon from anywhere, Mira.” Celine called after her.

“It’s easier there.” She called back. She felt the bitter taste of the lie, but it was better to say that than the truth.

That it wasn’t about the tree. That, really, it was just easier when she was around those two. That, as weird as they were, she actually kind of missed them already.

. . . . . . . . 

“I have no idea what I’m doing.” Zoey muttered. How did Mira do it? What did she ‘lean’ into?

Stop. Getting in your head isn’t gonna do it. It’s about the Honmoon. That’s what Mira leaned into. If I just lean into it. 

Just gotta feeeeel it.

She really did try. Tried to see the Honmoon, tried to grasp something in her fingers. For a moment she almost thought she was feeling something, but her fingers dug into dirt and nothing came of it. 

She looked up to see Rumi watching her intently. “Um… what’s up?” She asked.

Rumi jerked, turning her eyes back to the ground, “Nevermind.” The girl summoned her Saingeom with the ease of an expert. Zoey watched the way the threads twirled into physical form. 

“You’re incredible.” Zoey murmured. If Rumi heard her, she didn’t give it away. She stood up, wiping dirt off her shins. “I’m never gonna get this.” She whispered.

”Yes, you will.” Rumi responded.

”That you hear?” Zoey snipped, but the moment Rumi shifted uncomfortably, Zoey was overcome with guilt, “Sorry… I’m just frustrated.”

“It’s fine.” Rumi responded.

“How do I do this?”

“You have to feel the Honmoon.”

”Okay, but what does that mean?”

”Have you ever felt it before?”

Zoey thought back to the dreams. To those moments when the song echoed in her head, when the tree loomed in the distance while blue lines danced around her feet. That strange pulsing feeling in her chest when she’d met Mira. “Yeah. I think I have.”

”Lean into that feeling, and the Honmoon will respond.” Rumi answered. 

Zoey knelt down, trying to think back to those days. The dreams that had cradled her at night. She remembered feeling like she’d lost something every time she woke up. All those times she sat alone, huddled under bleachers or stuffed into a corner, wishing for that feeling.

She wanted it so badly she didn’t even realize she had been feeling it consistently. The feeling when she was close to them. Like she’d found her purpose. Like she mattered in this place. That was the feeling. It was like she was chasing a thread of acceptance, and if she could just grasp it, she’d find paradise.

She tried to imagine that thread, and her mind built it. Fluttering in the wind, just out of reach. Her fingertips barely grazing it. She reached further, further.

”Hey, what’d I miss?” Mira’s voice shattered her focus. 

“Mira!” Zoey whined. “I was getting somewhere!”

”Oh… sorry.” Mira said coolly. Rumi tilted her head to the side. “Are you limping?”

”Celine literally kicked me off my feet.”

Rumi winced, but said nothing. 

“You okay?” Zoey asked

”Yeah I’ll be fine. All part of training, right?” Mira chuckled. “No wonder you’re so good at fighting.” She said with a nod tossed toward Rumi.

The way Rumi’s limbs went rigid triggered an unlabeled alarm in Zoey’s mind. Glancing at Rumi, the girl looked like she was about to combust. It was a compliment, silly. Take it!

She wondered if Rumi’s toned muscles were a result of training or just resulted from the constant tension the girl never quite seemed to put down. 

She hadn’t known Rumi long, and in that not-long time, the two had barely even spoken. Zoey knew she was weird—too into her music, always holding a notebook, yada-yada—but Rumi took the cake.

Zoey knew anxiety when she saw it, but Rumi had such a stoic look overtaking her face it that Zoey couldn’t help but doubt if the emotions were actually there at all.

Maybe Rumi really was just… like this.

Maybe they’d never be quite as close as she wanted.

It wouldn’t be the first time she was the issue. She remembered her eomma once told her:

“Zoey, I love you, but maybe if you dialed it back a little, you’d be more approachable?”

And maybe Eomma was right.

Maybe if she’d just not been so energetic.

Maybe if she’d stopped scribbling in notebooks like a crazed scientist.

Or maybe if she toned it down on the korean stuff and leaned more into what all the other girls were into.

But she’d quickly realized that in order to make friends, she’d have to tone down so much of her personality that she wouldn’t even be there anymore by the time anyone liked her.

In secret, she’d made a weak decision. That she’d let them hate her—let them torment her for all the things she was and all the things she wasn’t.

It was easier to let herself be the punching bag than to stand up and throw anything back. It was so much easier to cower under bleachers than make herself someone who could sit at a table. 

It was so much easier to be weak, to let herself lose the game. 

But this was a different game. Zoey could feel it. This was a different reality, and the only people she could share it with were the two girls in front of her.

The feeling returned in her chest. The thread dangling before her. She reached out for it, further, and further. I want it. I need it!

She latched her pointer finger and thumb around it. It twisted and wove until suddenly, she was holding a little dagger.

”Whoa! Way to go, Zoey.” Mira said with a nod. “Is that a throwing knife? sick.”

Zoey stared at it, no words in her mind. The glow mesmerized her, the hum of energy unexplainable by science sent shivers down her spine and ripples of goosebumps over her arms.

Rumi’s face was almost expressionless—there was a hint of something good deep in those dark-brown eyes. “Shin-kal.” She said. “That’s what your weapon’s called.”

”Shin-kal.” Zoey repeated, her voice slow—entranced. She glanced up again to Mira and Rumi.

Mira and Rumi.

The other hunters.

The only other hunters in the entire generation.

Zoey silenced her fears from earlier.

No. We’re going to be close. I’ll make it so.

Chapter Text

In the month she’d been here, Zoey learned a lot… to put it simply.

To elaborate? She spent every day trying to piece together a worldview that had been shattered beyond repair. Trying to fit jagged edges of glass back together, only for something else to smash the pieces into even smaller pieces. At this point, she’d have more luck spitting into the dust-like pile of shards and calling it a day. 

That said, this shattered world was a lot more fun.

Zoey had always craved something beyond school. Beyond the misery of Burbank, the agony of being pulled between California and Korea, between Dad and Eomma. 

She thought about the greek bandit Procrustes. She’d learned about him from reading Percy Jackson—yet another thing that, in retrospect, she shouldn’t have done out in the open.

She felt like she’d spent her life trapped in one of his contraptions, being pulled from both sides to fit something never quite meant for her. 

But here? The Honmoon responded to her, like she almost mattered to it. Almost. It was still really hard to summon a damn thing. But Zoey had managed to summon her weapons, as long as she had enough time to focus. She could do it, just not very well yet.

It was like her first summer in Korea—she was only eight and didn’t really understand the language that well. She spent the entire time staring at her eomma in confusion—a silent plea for translation.

After a while, she’d recognize words and fragments. She learned from her grandmother’s gaze that “mulyehan” wasn’t a word she wanted to be called. She learned the definition from an English to Korean dictionary. Disrespectful. 

She learned the Korean word for “sorry” that first summer too. Her eomma would offer it up like a mantra whenever Zoey did anything.

She vowed to know Korean by the time she went back. She begged her eomma to teach her, and Eomma was thrilled. She only wished she’d understood the glances her parents fired at one another from across the room at the time.

Maybe, if she’d caught it earlier, it wouldn’t have happened the way it had. Maybe they’d still be happy.

Rumi’s sword caught the sun in a way that blinded Zoey for a split second. She watched as the brilliant blue blade sliced through the air and met the chest of a training dummy. It quickly became two halves of a training dummy. Zoey was always enthralled by the Honmoon weapons. That blue was menacing in such a pure way, like it was a cleansing sort of violence.

Celine explained that their weapons would vary depending on their personalities. Rumi’s sword, in Zoey’s mind, made her like a knight. Sometimes it felt that way. A knights were all about code and rigidity and whatnot. If anyone was rule-oriented and rigid, it was Rumi.

The way her expression turned to stone whenever Celine was speaking, like she didn’t dare to break a command, spoken or otherwise. Or the way that she always stepped between danger and her fellow hunters. 

Though, ‘danger’ right now could only mean Celine or a bunch of training dummies as sparring opponents. She shuddered to think about what it might mean in the future.

Mira’s weapon, the gok-do, made her even scarier. She didn’t really know what kind of soul resonated with such a weapon. It seemed like the sort of weapon meant to slaughter. Fast, efficient. Able to be swung like a sword or jabbed like a spear. A long staff meant for reach. All the options in the world. 

And Mira certainly didn’t pigeonhole herself to any of them. It was actually terrifying how quickly Mira got the hang of such a versatile and lethal weapon.

Zoey wasn’t sure what her own weapon said about herself. She liked the shin-kal, small but lethal. Throwable daggers that were used in ritual to ward off evil—it certainly fit at least one aspect of the job. 

She wondered if it said something deep about her. Sometimes she felt like all she did was stand on the outside, tossing things out into the world, hoping it might change something. Maybe her shin-kal could finally make a difference. That, or she was just overthinking it. Probably the latter.

She forced her thoughts back to Rumi. Quiet, skittish, and obedient. Now that Zoey thought about it, Rumi was alarmingly obedient. They could be sparring, and Celine could tell Rumi, “Punch yourself!” and Zoey was willing to bet good money that Rumi would not hesitate to do so. 

Part of her believed Celine might say something like that, too. She had watched Rumi and Celine spar plenty of times. She had seen how mercilessly Celine would batter the girl she’d raised since birth. She couldn’t understand why. She could never do that to Rumi, even if it was so she’d be unbeatable. Zoey couldn’t help but love Rumi, as hard as it was to talk to her. More deeply than she knew she could love anyone. Mira, too.

Zoey wondered if the other two felt what she felt. She barely knew them, and what she did know of them really shouldn’t have led to her to feel so fondly for them. Zoey remembered how scared she was when Mira had snatched her notebook. After all that time in Burbank, with supposed friends peeking over her shoulder and mocking her lyrics and weird scribbles, at best...

She shook away those unwanted memories, letting her mind settle more comfortably on Mira. She remembered the car ride back up to the Sanctuary, the first actual conversation Zoey ever had with her:

Rumi had been sitting in the front, leaving her and Mira together in the back. Zoey remembered how her skin crawled as she clutched her notebook. The silence between them was thick, like they’d been stuck into jello and it had solidified before either of them could say their piece. And Zoey had learned better than to shatter heavy silences.

Apparently, Mira was born to shatter silence.

“I wasn’t trying to mess with your notebook.” She said quickly.

Zoey didn’t really know what to say, so she just nodded. Mira looked irritated. I guess I wasn’t supposed to do that…

“It was the tree.” Mira whispered. “You said you saw it in a dream. I saw it in a dream, too.” She glanced up at the front seat, and Zoey followed her gaze to the girl—Rumi. “Saw her too.”

“Whoa, really?” Zoey said aloud. Mira’s face hardened into a scolding look. “Sorry.” Zoey whispered. “Hey, was there a song in your dream, too?” Zoey held her notebook, and for a moment she wondered if she would regret this. 

What if Mira—the literal scariest girl she’d ever met in her life—mocked her? Threw her notebook out the car window? Or tore out the pages? 

“There was.” Mira said, “This is weird. Really weird.”

Zoey shook off her thoughts. She wanted to know what was happening, and it seemed like Mira did too. So, she opened her notebook to the page and showed it to Mira, whose eyes widened. “Those are the words. That’s the song.” 

The memory was interrupted as Rumi let out a yelp. Her eyes zeroed in on the sound, and in an instant Zoey found herself moving toward her friend. “Rumi! Are you okay?”

“Get up.” Celine ordered coldly. “Zoey, back up. Rumi needs to learn this.”

The words felt like an insurmountable barrier. Like an invisible rift had opened, its edges imperceivable yet undeniable. Reluctantly, Zoey did as she was told. After all… Celine was the only person who really knew anything about how to train hunters… She should listen, right? She told the gnawing feeling in her gut to shut up as she backed up.

She watched now, her nerves feeling tight as Rumi attempted to do something with her sword. Had Zoey been listening, she might have had a clue as to what the specific maneuver was, but she’d been too wrapped up in her head. She always was, on some level.

The way Rumi moved always fascinated her. She knew now that the girl had probably been doing this since her hair was a normal length. 

Had Rumi ever had a real haircut? It wasn’t lost on Zoey that Rumi’s hair was just like Ryu Mi-Yeoung’s. Was Rumi trying to have a connection with her eomma? It made sense to Zoey, but Rumi never talked about anything like that.

Though, it’s not like Rumi really talked at all. An entire month together and Zoey had barely gotten more than a few words out of the girl.

Zoey shook her head. Come on, focus already! How are you zoning out during combat training?? 

Rumi attempted the maneuver again, and this time Zoey finally realized what she was trying to do; it was a disarming maneuver. Will the demons have weapons? She hadn’t actually even seen a demon before. Maybe they could. Where would their weapons come from, anyway?

“Zoey!” a light smack on the back of Zoey’s head sent a jolt down her spine. “Sorry!” She chirped reflexively. Mira was next to her. “Celine’s going to kill you if she catches you zoning out.” the taller girl warned.

“Don’t remind me.” Zoey groaned, subtly shoving down the feeling that she will absolutely ruin this conversation. Be normal! “It’s like I’m back in school.”

“Not a reader, huh?”

Zoey smiled a little at the response that jumped to the forefront of her mind, though she instinctively shoving it away. But as she thought again, she realized that she wasn’t scared. 

She really should have been… Mira was terrifying, but there was something about how she sat on the upper beam of the fence, her feet tucked under the lower beam. She was leaning back a little, head tilted toward Zoey.

She did it so casually, too, as though Zoey wasn’t a tried and true irritation to everyone else on the planet. Instead, she felt a seed of comfort blooming in the small space between them. 

So, she said what she’d thought. “I’m an avid reader. I’m just… always reading all the wrong stuff.” 

Mira laid her hand on Zoey’s shoulder, almost like a reward for playing the right response. “I get it. School wasn’t really my thing either.”

Zoey tried—really hard—not to freak out, not to shift her shoulder at all. She fought against the instinct to tense up like someone battling possession. She felt like she was coaxing a stray cat, like if she moved, then Mira would remove her hand. She hoped to God she wasn’t sweaty.

They watched Rumi take what could’ve been anywhere from her fourth to twentieth attempt at the disarming maneuver, and finally the girl managed to jam the broad side of her blade against Celine’s wrist so that her practice staff almost fell from her hand. 

Almost.

The entire time, Celine had only been making simple moves to trip Rumi up, get her to falter before resetting and letting the girl try again. But this time, Celine pressed Rumi with deadly precision. Rumi stumbled, and Celine swung as though she was actually going to hit Rumi.

And then the sick sound of impact echoed in Zoey’s ears. Rumi was sprawled on the ground, and Celine sighed. “Not good enough. Get up, take a break. We’ll work on this later.” She started walking, and Rumi jumped up, like she wasn’t hurt at all. 

But Zoey saw it, a flicker of a wince across Rumi’s face, coupled with a brief moment where her hand hovered over the spot on her shoulder where she’d been hit. “No, wait, let me try it again, please!” 

Try again? Zoey glanced at Mira, who looked just as confused.

“No. You won’t make any progress. Do as I said.”

“Just let her try again, dude.” Mira called out.

Celine turned her head toward them, and Zoey shot her gaze into the ground. She didn’t have to look up to know that Mira was probably still staring Celine down like it was a battle of wills. It was always a battle of wills when it came to Mira.

Celine seemed to yield, as Zoey heard her say, “Very well. One more time, Rumi.”

“This isn’t a good idea.” Zoey said, her head still down.

“It’s what Rumi wants.” Mira’s voice sounded harsh, like sandpaper. Like she was angry, but Zoey wasn’t sure what she had to be angry about.

“She shouldn’t want that, Mira.”

“Yeah, well maybe this is how she figures that out.” 

Zoey shook her head. Once again, she felt like a few of those glass shards were getting shattered again. Why does Rumi want to get beaten up again? Why is Mira going along with it? If she hadn’t said anything, Celine wouldn’t be doing it again. Is Mira right? Should we let Rumi do this? Agh, Zoey, shut up and watch!

She lifted her head just as Rumi moved forward. Right off the beat, Zoey could see the pain beneath the focus. She could see the way that Rumi’s eyes squinted with every step. But Rumi tried again. And again, Celine swung the staff with no remorse for the girl. This time, Zoey watched as the staff connected with Rumi’s side, and she was thrown into the fence at the opposite side of the arena. 

“Rumi!” Zoey yelled, “Are you okay?” She would have jumped over the fence and run to their leader—her friend, but Celine’s earlier command still rang in her ears like a warning.

Rumi pawed mindlessly at the fence until her hand caught one of the wooden beams. She braced herself against it as she dragged herself back to her feet.

Celine didn’t even say anything, just turned and walked into the hanok.

Mira now vaulted the fence, and Zoey followed. They came to Rumi, who gave them half a glance before her eyes locked onto her practice sword in her grasp. 

Zoey almost reached her hand out, but part of her was terrified that she might only make it worse. Clearly, you don’t understand what anyone here’s thinking. You’re just gonna do the wrong thing. Again.

————

Later that night, Zoey couldn’t sleep. That wasn’t new. Mira told her a couple weeks ago that her sleep schedule was quote-on-quote: “less reliable than a drug addict.” 

She couldn’t exactly argue.

Her restlessness drove her to the arena. The disappointment still lingered from earlier in the day. She stepped outside, her eyes focusing up feeling the chill of the night roll over her arms. The dying embers of autumn were being stamped fully out by the impending winter. 

Zoey wondered if it would snow enough for them to play. She’d always imagined herself and her friends making snow angels, having snowball fights or making a snowman. Maybe even go sledding, build a ramp out of snow. 

Only that fantasy never came true. She had spent her winters alone, her parents’ arguments reduced to bitter, spiteful simmering by the presence of her dad’s side of the family.

She wandered over to the fence she and Mira had sat on earlier, mere meters away from the back porch. She sat up on it, thinking about her fellow Hunters. Mira’s nonchalance and stoicism, Rumi’s unbreakable shell.

“Who woulda thought that Mira was going to be the easy one to talk to…” Zoey whispered to herself as she stared up at the sky. The stars were largely drowned out by the glow of Seoul. She wondered if she’d ever get to see a place vacant enough for the stars not to be so shy.

She summoned her shin-kal and pushed herself off the fence, but only then she realized that she wasn’t alone. Rumi was standing on the opposite side of the arena, her saingeom glowed in her grasp.

 How did I not see her before?

“Um… Hi!” Zoey giggled nervously, forcing herself to stray further from the fence and stroll over. Oh jesus hell and christ what do I do-oo? She sang in her head.

She settled on: “Sorry, I… couldn’t sleep.”

Rumi nodded, her eyes completely lacking any expression at all, as she returned her attention to the dummy. Zoey realized that Rumi had set it up to practice the disarming maneuver. 

“Still working on that this late?” Zoey asked tentatively. Rumi didn’t give any response. Dammit, you braided question mark, say something! Anything! What am I doing wrong?

The girl didn’t even so much as look in her direction, just nodded as she practiced again. Her sword missed the spot. 

Zoey turned her attention to another dummy. She summoned a few shin-kals and, without bothering to move to a more convenient spot, she practiced her throwing. 

She probably would have made better throws if her attention wasn’t mostly on Rumi. She watched her face through glances, and now she saw frustration building in Rumi’s brow with every attempt. She made the same move three more times before she finally let out a violent growl and slashed the dummy in two. 

Her breath was ragged for a moment, but as she turned and her eyes laid on Zoey she went rigid. The frustration was killed and stuffed away. The heave of her shoulders disappeared. 

“H-Hey, it’s okay.” Zoey took a slow step forward, shoving down the sudden urge to disappear before she could become something worth getting angry at. “I get how frustrating this sort of stuff is.”

Zoey, shut up and leave. Just go. You’re gonna make her mad, and then she’s gonna lash out and it’ll be all your fault. Get the hell out of here!

The way Rumi looked at her made Zoey recoil. Why can’t I say the right thing to you?

See? Just go! It makes it easier on everyone if you stop all… this.

“Sorry, I’ll… I’ll leave you alone.” Zoey dismissed her last two shin-kal and turned to get out of Rumi’s way. She knew all too well when someone just wanted her to shut up and go.

“Didn’t you come out here to train?” Rumi’s voice caught her off guard. Zoey turned back. The light of Rumi’s saingeom illuminated her eyes. She looked ethereal—and very confused. Her head was tilted and her face was focused on Zoey for what might’ve been the first time in a month. It was the first time Zoey actually felt like Rumi knew she existed. 

“Well… I…” Zoey stammered. “I just couldn’t sleep. Thought fresh air might help. Then, I saw you, and, I don’t know, I kinda wanted to talk.” She sighed. “But, it’s okay, you’re busy. So-“

“Why would you waste time talking?” Rumi’s words felt like a knife. So direct, so matter-of-fact. So Celine.

“What do you mean?”

“We have a Honmoon to seal. That’s our mission. We have to complete it. Why care about talking?”

Zoey shook her head. “Wasn’t the whole point of the Honmoon that we had to unite the souls of people?”

Rumi nodded like it was obvious, like she hadn’t even considered that this was actually a friggin bombshell of information for Zoey.

Zoey tried to shake off her anger at that. Does she even notice us at all? Do we matter at all? “So doesn’t that mean we should be bonding? So that we can unite others? How are we supposed to unite souls if we aren’t united?”

Rumi went quiet again, but it looked like what Zoey had said finally registered beyond just her ears. Like maybe she’d surprised Rumi by saying something of substance.

It was nearly a whole minute before Rumi’s eyes nervously flicked back up to Zoey. Why is she nervous? This wasn’t the Rumi she knew. Quiet, cold, calculated. That was Rumi. This was a scared girl who didn’t know what she was doing.

“You make a good point.” Her voice was quieter, less sure. Had Zoey rattled her that much?

“So… how does it work?”

Okay, didn’t expect that. “How does what work?”

“The… talking. The uniting of souls. How do we do that?”

“It just sorta happens. Like… oh! What’s your favorite color?”

Rumi sat like she’d never been asked that before. Maybe she hadn’t been. Celine didn’t seem like the type to ask. “I like the color of the Honmoon, I guess.” She said. 

“That’s a good color! Now you ask me what my favorite color is.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Aqua! Well, really just any mix of blue and green.” Zoey said.

Rumi’s eyes flicked back to the house for a moment, “What do you think Mira’s favorite color is?”

“Definitely pink.” Zoey said confidently.

“How do you know?

“Cuz Mira dyes her hair. Who would dye their hair anything other than their fav-“ Zoey felt her entire body say: dude, shut the hell up! as she looked at Rumi’s lavender hair. “Uh, I didn’t mean, like, that you have to or any-“

“Have to what? Dye my hair?” 

“No, no, I mean you don’t have to dye it your favorite color. The lavender looks nice!”

Rumi looked even more confused. “Mira dyes her hair?”

“W-well yeah. Obviously.” Zoey looked harder at Rumi, “Don’t you?”

“No… I didn’t know people did that.”

“That’s your natural hair color? I’ve… what? That’s wild!”

“Is wild bad?”

“No, no, it’s cool.” Zoey laughed a little, relieved that she finally understood what was happening. “Like, really cool. Your mom had black hair… so it must’ve come from your dad! That’s wild.” Zoey kicked the fence post, unsure of whether Rumi would respond.

“You ever meet him? Your d-“

“I don’t know anything about my dad.” Rumi blurted out like her life depended on it.

“Oh, got it.” Zoey took a slow breath in. I’m not touching whatever that was.

“D-Did you know your parents?” Rumi said, like she was trying to rerail a train. 

Zoey winced at the way she asked it. No assumption that they were alive, it seemed like Rumi was actually assuming they were just dead or gone. I knew her mom died when she was little… I guess she was even littler than I thought?

“Yeah, I know them. They’re still alive. Divorced, but alive.” Zoey answered

“What does ‘divorced’ mean?” Rumi whispered it like the question was some taboo. She looked so ashamed of herself for needing to ask it that Zoey had to hold herself back from hugging the girl.

Don’t make her feel weird for it. Keep your face the same.

How does she not know what that is? Has she ever even left here? Watched a show? 

Zoey! Don’t screw this up! She’s staring at you, answer!

“It’s… um… when two people who loved each other decide that they don’t anymore. So they, like… legally break up.”

“Oh…” Rumi thought for a second. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. They still love me… just… not enough to keep them together. It wasn’t really about me… sometimes it seems like it also kinda was… though.” 

“That…” Rumi didn’t finish the sentence.

It was becoming more and more clear to Zoey that Rumi’s standoffishness wasn’t a product of ego or disinterest—it was from nervousness and what very well could be literally no experience with kids her age.

“Sorry, I kn-“

“Thank you. For… for telling me this. For… uniting our souls.” Rumi blurted out, unsure of what to say. “I feel like… like it made me better, somehow.”

Zoey again was forced to resist all urges to hug the girl as she stared at Zoey with an expression so innocent she could have been a fawn looking for its mama. 

“Talking to you makes me better, too. I really like talking to you, Rumi.”

“I like talking to you too.” Rumi’s lips twitched into a nervously goofy half-smile.

Hug her.

Don’t do it.

Hug her now!

Don’t you dare.

I’m doing it.

Zoey quickly wrapped her arms around Rumi, and the girl turned to stone in her embrace. But then the stone melted. Rumi’s shoulders dropped, her chin rested on Zoey’s shoulder ever so slightly.

Zoey almost felt like Rumi had leaned into it. When Zoey broke away—it was her who broke away, and not Rumi—it seemed like Rumi wasn’t quite done with the contact.

“Want to go inside? I’m kinda freezing.” Zoey said. Truthfully, she only then just realized that her skin was tingling with the cold. Rumi nodded and they walked inside together.

When Zoey collapsed back onto her bed, she fell asleep in an instant, her hopes of friendship—real friendship—ignited again by the warmth she’d found in Rumi.

Chapter Text

Rumi thought that having the other hunters around would be her salvation. To her, the thought was so much more than some silly musing that she’d clung to. It was a core belief that comforted her on long, sleepless nights and fed her focus during agonizing training sessions.

It was far more than a thought. Thoughts were fleeting, and subject to change. They were malleable and impressionable. They were forgettable.

This was neither malleable nor forgettable. This was a fundamental truth of the universe, and she had long ago cemented it into her brain as such.

It was a law of emotional physics that, with or without understanding, could not and would not be denied.

And then the girls appeared. And in some ways, the fundamental law held true. In some ways, it truly was salvation.

The way that Zoey would prattle on about just about anything, from turtles to big cats to her favorite songs. Zoey filled the silence that had once strangled the breath right out of Rumi’s lungs.

She helped Rumi learn to fill the silence herself—even though Rumi still had no idea what she was doing when it came to that.

If she knew any random facts, she would have just done what Zoey did. It seemed to work. But something told Rumi that all the combat information in her head wasn’t the same kind of interesting as animal trivia.

At the end of the day, though, the small, bright-eyed sugar addict was there, and the silence wasn’t quite so loud. In that way, Rumi felt blissful in her presence.

And then there was Mira.

Rumi’s chest tightened at the way that Mira would playfully mock Celine’s teaching methods, or how she’d occasionally nudge Rumi or Zoey playfully. It made it seem like they were a little family, and Rumi was a part of it. Maybe it wasn’t a real family, but it felt so sweet when she pretended it was.

It all made Rumi feel like maybe sometimes she was allowed to laugh, to be something she dared to call ‘herself.’ Celine’s training schedules, efficient and rational as ever, never quite made room for that in the past.

But it wasn’t all euphoria.

Because sure, they made her happy. They were changing her; she didn’t recognize herself anymore. The girl who’d walked into those auditions had somehow been softened and shifted in the month since Zoey and Mira showed up. And maybe that was overall a good thing.

But in other ways, having the two of them by her side was utter torture.

Zoey’s sweet and innocent nature made Rumi feel even worse for all the deception. She was lying to the sweetest person ever to exist, and the guilt ate at her like a starving dog.

And whenever Mira nudged her, she felt a shot of panic rush through her, tightening her muscles and making her mind scream for an escape. Her mind would suddenly be convinced that Mira’s touch could spill her secret. That, somehow, Mira could feel the inhumanity etched into her skin.

It always came back to that.

The patterns.

They forced her to draw a line in the dirt where she didn’t want one. All she wanted was to scrape her foot over that stupid line. But she knew what would happen if she did. 

And that couldn’t happen.

Her mind was well prepared for the spiral. It was a carefully curated trail she wandered every time she slipped into thinking about the jagged carvings under her sleeve. 

It started at the patterns, and reassuring herself that she wasn’t a monster.

You’re not one of them, Rumi.

You only have those because-

Your faults and fears must never be seen.

Cover those up!

Nobody can ever know about them.

Next, the trail turned onto the Honmoon.

The patterns will be gone once you turn it gold.

It’ll fix me.

I’ll be whole. No more patterns.

No more lies.

And then the final shift toward the fantasy she chased so pathetically. So desperately.

No more patterns.

No more lying.

No more hiding.

They’ll actually love you.

All of you.

And then she’d trip over the tree root of a reminder: That’s the future, not the present.

The trail ended there: at the present.

I need to train. 

I need to work harder. 

I need to make that future my reality. 

The harder I work, the sooner I can be fixed.

Life would only begin when the Honmoon was sealed. Until then, she had to endure.

Get up. Train. Keep working. Stop thinking. You can’t stagnate, what if you never turn it gold? What if-

The thoughts kept swirling, like a typhoon that fed off an ocean of fears that must never be seen.

Suddenly, dinner wasn’t as important. “I’m going to go train a bit more.” She said as she stood and started toward the door.

The rational part of her wanted to stop: If you don’t eat, your training won’t be as effective!

The larger part of her won the argument: I don’t have time to screw around!

She left her practice sword behind, and instead summoned her Saingeom. The tingle in her fingertips as the handle formed within her grasp satisfied her nerves, just barely.

She found herself rushing toward the dummies that were set up throughout a section of the arena.

She felt like a wild beast as she jumped around, slashing left and right. In a matter of moments, she was surrounded by broken piles of hay. 

You have to keep working. Have to.

Have to!

Turn it gold!

That's the only way.

You have to.

Before they find out

They can’t find out.

“Looks like you’re out of enemies.” Mira’s voice came from the center of the arena. “You should finish your dinner.”

“I should be practicing.” Rumi muttered under her breath. “I’m fine.” She called out louder. 

Mira closed the distance between them, chuckling. “You’re already breathing concerningly hard.”

Rumi hadn’t even realized how heavy her breathing was. Did I lose control? She banished the thought. It was easier when Mira spoke again, “How about a deal?”

“A deal?” 

“Let’s spar. If I win, you have to shut up and go finish your dinner. If you win, I have to shut up, and we’ll keep practicing.” Mira flashed a smile, but Rumi could see a sort of cunning playing around its edges.

“You’ve never once beaten me.” Rumi pointed out. She wondered if it came off as smug. She hoped it didn’t. Her mind flicked back to Zoey, the way she’d had no idea how to say anything. She was still .

“Exactly. So if I win, you really need the food.”

Rumi tightened her grip around her saingeom, forcing herself to focus on the fight, not feelings. “Deal.”

Mira held out her hand, and the Honmoon responded, twisting and whirling into her Gok-do. 

Rumi’s mind went numb as she sprang into action. She searched for any opening. Mira twirled her Gok-do around her hands and took methodical stabs at Rumi.

Rumi ducked and dodged from them, parrying with a swing of her saigeom. She was close enough. She could do it. She could win this fast.

Suddenly, pain exploded in her head, as her body jerked sideways.

She tumbled across the ground for a second before catching her footing again. Reflexively she scrambled to recapture Mira in her vision.

Once Rumi laid her eyes back on Mira, she realized what had happened. Careless. She swung it around and hit you with the end of it. Are you trying to lose?

Rumi let the impact send her tumbling before catching herself on her feet again. Her head hurt, but if one hit took her out, she could kiss everything goodbye.

She charged again, watching as Mira already rushed toward her. Rumi dodged again, now securely back on her feet. She knew very well that Mira’s weapon had a nasty range.

She’d made the right move, getting in close, but she’d been careless in the process. She’d underestimated Mira. That was the error. 

She dodged, she parried, she struck, only for Mira to backstep and parry, before the taller girl advanced again. Rumi wasn’t worried. This was manageable. She could easily parry and dodge until an opening appea-

She backstepped, feeling the side—not the bottom—of her foot take her weight as her ankle surrendered. Pain jolted up her leg, and she faltered under it.

Mira didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the mistake. She swung the Gok-do as if she was going to let the blade slash right through Rumi. At the last moment, it vanished into the air.

Instead, Mira pounced and tackled Rumi to the ground. “See? You need to eat your damn food!” Mira muttered. “Come on, I won. Let’s go. Your rice is calling.”

Rumi sighed, the pain in her ankle had faded quickly. She must have only rolled it.

A single misstep was all it took.

A single mistake was enough to ruin everything.

The thought gnawed at her. How is a mistake supposed to perfectly evade every mistake?

Chapter Text

Mira laid in her bed, sleep evading her. Normally, in this situation, she’d use some strategy to trick her mind into slumber. But tonight, her mind was too alive in thought to be tricked.

So many things flipped through her thoughts. The Honmoon, her family… but, in all honesty, her thoughts were (familiarly) stuck on Rumi and Zoey.

Rumi was the most frustrating person Mira had ever met. The girl was, objectively and from a distance, perfect.

She was, by far, the strongest and most battle-conscious of their trio.

She never stayed on the ground.

She never wavered in her goals.

Her voice was angelic, and she was no stranger to dancing.

But Rumi, for all her talent and willpower, had no idea how to exist.

The girl could cook like a master chef, but she would abandon her food to train without any prompting.

With a sword in her hand she was a force of nature, but froze up when someone asked her a question that couldn’t be answered with “yes” or “no.”

She could annihilate a training regiment—unless Celine was watching. Because when Celine was watching? Rumi wasn’t quite Rumi.

She would fall into this cold precision that almost felt like Celine’s, except there was this inexplicable desperation behind it. It looked like Rumi was fighting for her life when the older woman was around. Mira guessed that Rumi was desperate for Celine’s approval. She understood that; she’d been like that with her mother, a very long time ago.

But she wasn’t eager to write it off so simply as the same feeling. It seemed unfair to Rumi to boil it down to something that simple—that easy.

After all, the stakes were high. They were quite literally fighting for their lives. Fighting for everyone’s lives. Rumi wanting Celine’s approval was pretty understandable. Maybe Rumi needed the assurance that they wouldn’t totally suck at this.

In that way, Mira understood Rumi.

But even still, it wasn’t that simple. Because as much as she was starting to understand Rumi, she was also starting to understand that she’d probably never fully understand Rumi.

Because Mira didn’t know what it was like to grow up with the genuine weight of the world on her shoulders the entire time. She couldn’t understand being six years old and thinking about demons and Honmoon’s and sword fighting.

That wasn’t to say that Rumi was the only one who cared. Mira and Zoey wanted to save the world just as badly. They felt the weight. And boy, did they work to be able to bear it.

Mira was sort of impressed with how quickly she’d fallen into the grueling rhythm of singing, dancing, fighting, eating predominantly to energize and amplify, and fighting more.

She never thought she’d consistently rise before the sun and collapse onto her bed long after it, but there she was, right along with Zoey. They worked like dogs for it.

But at the same time, Mira could tell that Rumi grew up working like a dog to bear that weight—and did so almost alone. Celine obviously wasn’t what one might deem a comforting mentor. 

Mira couldn’t understand what that kind of pressure did to the girl. But she knew that she had to help relieve it before it broke her. Mira didn’t want to find out how many sleepless nights and skipped meals it took before Rumi crashed.  

So, she watched. And she learned about Rumi’s habits. The more she learned, the better she got at stealing pieces of the burden, or forcing the socially inept little workaholic to hand them over.

For now… it was all she could really do. Mira felt like she’d found a way to manage Rumi’s tendency to self-neglect. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked.

She didn’t know how to really be there, how to get Rumi out of her shell. She was always too blunt and too bashful to leave room for open emotion.

So, she left that to Zoey.

She’d come to like Zoey a lot. Granted, Zoey was a lot at first. Always full of energy that Zoey didn’t seem to have much of a lid on. The only time Zoey had ever seemed like she was genuinely angry was when they’d first met.

Mira wasn’t sure she’d ever totally forgive herself for snatching up Zoey’s notebook the way she had. She wished she had just been… normal, and just asked. Instead, all she’d done was confuse herself even more and probably scare the crap out of Zoey.

She wanted to undo it, or at least apologize. But doing so required a vulnerability that was left behind with Aera. 

To be honest, she wasn’t even sure if Zoey cared anymore. They seemed to be fine, now. Zoey was… unique. She didn’t have the same concept of a boundary that Mira had always thought was mandatory for sanity.

And Zoey’s lack of boundaries was infectious. Time and time again, Mira found herself forgetting to see the lines she once thought must never be crossed.

Little Zoey was a master at making a person forget they ever had any walls.

Sometimes that terrified Mira. Other times, it gave her relief. The girl was a living stuffed animal, and sometimes—against her better judgment—she enjoyed the clinginess. 

“Mira! Mira!” That voice that bounced off walls like they were trampolines burst into her room. “Guess what?”

Think of the devil. Mira thought. “Zoey.”

“Yeah?” 

“It is one o’clock in the morning.”

“Yup! Okay so guess what?”

“Kill me now.” Mira muttered, but she couldn’t help but smile while her back was to the lunatic. She regained control of her face as she rolled over “What’s up, Zo?” 

“Have you ever heard of the Iberian Ribbed Newt?”

“Nope. Tell me about it.” 

“Okay, so, obviously it’s a newt, if that wasn’t obvious. It’s from the iberian peninsula, again, obviously. But this is the cool thing: It can rotate its ribs around, and then stab them through its skin so they act like spikes! Also, they have a poison that they secrete, so like if a predator bites them, they get stabbed AND poisoned! Isn’t that so cool?!” 

“Huh…” Mira resisted the urge to smile again, “Actually is kinda cool.”

“I know! Evolution is so wild! Like… how does that even happen?”

Mira had a feeling that Zoey had about thirty different theories that answered that exact question, but she was already derailing elsewhere. 

“Ooh you wanna hear about something else?”

“Quick question.” Mira raised her hand a little.

“Shoot.”

“How much coffee have you had?”

Zoey didn’t answer. Mira waited a few seconds longer before she looked at the girl again. Zoey smiled, “None, I’m just like this.” But Mira could feel the shift. Zoey was more still now. Milder. She’d messed up. 

“Oh, Zo, I didn’t mean it like that.” Mira reached her hand out and shook her shoulder a little. “Come on, I was just playing.”

“No, no I know!” Zoey laughed again, but it felt different. “It just reminded that I really am sorta tired…”

Mira could already feel herself forgetting her walls all over again. She wanted to kick herself for making Zoey feel like she had to lie.

“Well, then why don’t you lay down, and tell me that… yknow, the something else.” She mumbled.

“Lay down here?” Zoey asked like she was giving Mira a final chance to back out. 

“Why not?” Mira shrugged, “We’re literally bound by our souls. Don’t see why we can’t share a bed.”

She pulled the covers back so the younger girl could climb into the bed. “So, the something?”

“Right!” Zoey said, sitting down on the edge of the bed, carefully nestling herself under the blanket. “Okay, so a long long time ago, like, hundreds of millions of years ago, there was this fish. It’s a jawless fish—so long ago that not even jaws existed, by the way—called Saca-bam-bas-pis!” Zoey’s voice bounded through the syllables like it was part of a rap song, and Mira couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Sacama- no wait… Sac- What?”

“Saca-bam-BAS-pis!” Zoey sounded it out, practically yelling out the “bas” like it was a punchline. Mira liked to think of it like that. She repeated it, and Zoey giggled even more as she slid her phone in front of Mira’s face.

“Look at this derpy ‘lil thing.” Mira looked at the image, and now it really was the punchline. They broke out laughing at the best joke Mira had ever seen.

“Does it know it’s alive?” Mira asked.

“I think rocks have more awareness than this guy ever did.”

Mira felt something in her chest as the laughter died down. It was nothing like what she was used to feeling, and for once she didn’t want to shove an emotion down. She wrapped her arm around Zoey’s shoulder and hugged her closely, “You’re funny, Zo.” Mira said.

———

Rumi was being quieter than normal—which is really saying something, because she only ever heard Rumi’s voice if someone signaled her to respond to something.

Despite that, she was sure something was different. Her usual “Yes” and “No” responses were nothing but nods and head-shakes today. 

“Hey, you alive in there?” Mira nudged Rumi, who looked completely bewildered as she nodded, looking at her hands like she was trying to figure out the answer.

Mira watched Rumi’s eyes scan the arena. Then, they fell on something just past her, and she saw Rumi’s entire body lock into place. The girl summoned her saingeom and rushed a circle of dummies.

Mira turned and saw Celine. The woman wasn’t even looking at them, she was just meditating. Weird. It’s so weird. This is all weird and I don’t like it. 

Things shifted in the air with those two, and Mira felt like someone was lying to her. Before she could decide what to do about it, Mira glanced over to see Celine walking toward Rumi.

She had a feeling in her stomach like something would happen—like a few days ago, when Rumi couldn’t manage that disarming maneuver. 

I can’t let that happen again.

Mira wasn’t talkative. But she was protective. Much to her chagrin, she couldn’t help but jump between a conflict to save someone who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—save themselves.

She was moving to Rumi before her thoughts even registered what she should do.

“Rumi!” She called out. Celine and the younger girl turned toward her. “Can you help me with this move I’ve been working on?” 

That was pretty good for a total lie.

Rumi shot a glance to Celine, like she was asking if it was okay, before nodding.

Only a nod, not a ‘yes’

Even better: as if fate desired it, Celine’s phone rang, and she went inside to take the call.

“What’s the move?” Rumi asked.

Oh, right. “Um… yeah, so I lied.” Mira admitted.

The face in front of her tilted in confusion.

“It just… I don’t know, seemed like you really didn’t want to talk to Celine.”

Rumi didn’t say anything. Barely even moved her head, or changed her eyes at all. The girl stood there like a statue.

Figures. Mira turned to walk away.

“M-Mira?” Rumi’s voice caught her completely off guard. It was meek, like Rumi felt terrible for saying anything at all.

“Yeah?” Mira turned back around, and Rumi’s face was suddenly swirling with emotions.

Well, not quite. By normal standards, it was barely visible that anything was happening. By Rumi’s standard of emotional expression, it was a tornado. 

“What’s your favorite color?”

“My what?” Mira mumbled. Did you hit your head? “P-Pink.” She answered.

“Are your parents divorced?”

“What?” How the hell did we get here? “N-No. They’re probably not.” Mira looked Rumi up and down. Why does she look like she’s been staring at a math problem for too long? Why is this girl so feral? “You’re kinda weird, you know that?” Mira regretted saying it the moment the words slipped from her mouth. Especially so when all Rumi did in return was lower her head and nod in shame, like she’d failed at something.

Mira sighed, and—in a move that was a calculated risk at best—laid her hand on Rumi’s shoulder. The girl shrank under her touch, but didn’t move to get away. “It’s okay to be weird.” Mira said. “After all, have you met Zoey?”

“Zoey’s not weird.”

“She is, but in a good way.”

“Thank you for earlier.” Rumi murmured.

“Huh? Yeah, no pro-“ Before Mira could finish her sentence, Rumi bolted. Ducked away and leapt back into a pile of dummies. 

What in the actual… what?

Chapter Text

It doesn’t make any sense!

She sat, kneeling at her mother’s grave. “Mom?” She whispered. “I really wish you were here. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The world was silent, the air thick with the reminder that nobody was there to make this better. Was her mom even listening? Was there ever a time when she was here? Or was death such a final thing that she was fully gone for good?

“How am I supposed to unite our souls if I don’t even know what that means? I don’t know anything. Was I supposed to learn this with you?”

Silence. Always silence. 

Rumi stood up, feeling worse than when she’d arrived. “I don’t know what to do. I wish you were here so you could tell me what to do.”

She waited for something—anything—to bid her to sit back down. Some sign, some answer. Anything at all. But nothing came.

She tore herself away from the serenity before it could swallow her in emotions she didn’t want to feel.

. . . . . . . . . .

Zoey and Mira stood by the fence. Rumi was nowhere to be found.

”And then she just ran?”

”Yup. I have literally no idea what the hell happened. She asked me what my favorite color was, and then if my parents were divorced?”

“That’s what she asked you?” Zoey chuckled as she flipped her shin-kal absentmindedly. “That’s funny. Celine definitely never taught her how to do anything except sing and swing a sword.”

“I just don’t know how we went from point A to point B.” Mira rolled the shaft of her gok-do in her palms.

“Actually, I do.” Zoey chirped, “She and I talked the night after Celine practically beat her up in the arena. We talked about favorite colors, and then I asked about her dad—oh, definitely don’t do that, by the way—anyway, then she asked about my parents.”

“I’m guessing they’re divorced?”

“Bingo.” Zoey said with a salute. “She also didn’t know what divorce was. I explained it to her.”

“Seriously? Wow.” Mira stared at the ground, “Sorry, also, about your parents. That really sucks.”

“It’s no biggie. They haven’t gotten along since I could walk. Making it official didn’t really change anything.” Zoey murmured with a shrug.

“Yeah, but it’s still not exactly what you want.” 

“No… it’s not. But anyway yeah, that’s probably why she was so weird. She’s… learning, know?”

Mira nodded. “I honestly kind of thought she was just really standoffish. Or that she hated us…” She sighed in relief. “I’ll definitely take awkward over that. Also—wait—why can’t I ask about her dad?”

“Remember when I asked if you and your mom got along?”

Rumi walked up to see Mira shoot Zoey a very obvious warning glance. She tensed. What were they talking about that made Mira so angry?

“Exactly. That.” Zoey pointed with her shin-kal before whipping it at a practice dummy nearly a hundred feet away. To Rumi’s surprise, Zoey actually nailed the target.

“Nice throw.” She said. Her palms already felt sweaty, her nerves getting the best of her. 

Both girls turned at the sound of her voice. “‘Sup?” Mira said with a nod. Rumi shifted from one foot to another. How do I do this? What am I supposed to say?

“What’s up, Ru?” Zoey broke the short beat of silence that Rumi had failed to fill.

Rumi was relieved at the added beat to think, not that it did her much good. “I don’t know.” She hung her head in defeat.

You’re hopeless.

I know. But isn’t that what training is for?

This is humiliating.

I want to leave.

But I have to train. I have to learn this.

I don’t know what to do and I want to leave!

She would have turned to leave. She was already angling her shoulders toward the agility course, but Mira turned toward her more. “Hey, Rumi.”

Mira’s words locked her in place, trapping her in the discomfort. “Yeah?”

“Are we, like, your first friends?” She asked.

“We’re friends?” Were they? I thought friends had to know each other. 

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

What do other people mean when they say ‘friends’? “Because I don’t know you.”

“Well, we can fix that.” Mira turned. “Let’s start with the obvious. When did you learn about the Honmoon?”

This is fine. I can answer questions just fine.

“I don’t know, it was always part of my life.” Rumi sat for a second, thinking about everyone else in the world she’d never met.

Celine always said she had to protect them, both from demons and from the knowledge that demons exist. She’d never realized that, not very long ago, the other two hunters knew nothing about any of it.

Huh… they don’t know a lot about this stuff yet.

At least they know how to talk to people. You’re still a terrified little coward.

Are they scared too?

“Did it… scare you? When you learned about it?” She asked.

Mira nodded. “Hearing that demons exist wasn’t exactly the most comforting news.” 

“I was terrified.” Zoey said. “I didn’t really believe it for a while.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

Why not?

“What made you believe it?” Rumi asked.

Mira didn’t hesitate. “The day we got here, after you and Celine dropped the ‘oh by the way demons are real’ news, I had my bag packed and ready to take off.”

Her gok-do vanished as she leaned her hands on the fence and continued;

”Thought ‘yeah, these people are totally insane, and if I don’t leave, I will be too’” She smirked at the ground.

“I was halfway out my bedroom window when I heard you singing—that damned lullaby. You were just standing in the middle of the arena, singing. No idea why. And I saw the Honmoon respond to you. First time I actually saw the real Honmoon. I knew I couldn’t leave. Things… connected too well for it to be bullshit.” 

Zoey nodded. “I always sort of felt like something was different about me. It sounds kinda stupid, but it’s true. When I met you, and we all came here, I just had this feeling like I’d finally found my place. I didn’t want to shake it, so even though nothing made sense, I really wanted to belong here.”

She glanced at Mira, “Like you said. Too many things connected.”

Rumi nodded.

They had normal lives before this.

They were kids, like the ones she’d seen at the mall one of the few times Celine took her out. Normal people who didn’t know about any of it.

She looked at them, a nervous thought digging into her. We’re so different… Can I even begin to understand them?

“I don’t know how to do… this. Uniting our souls. But… I want to belong here, too.” 

None of them said anything. Instead, they shared awkward smiles. She didn’t understand them yet. She didn’t know them yet.

But the way the Honmoon hummed between them told her that someday she would.

Chapter Text

Rumi leaned against her door, listening to the muffled sound of a guitar strumming. Against her better judgement, she cracked the door to hear it better. Her timing was impeccable, as Zoey’s strumming picked up in intensity. 

Her voice sang slowly and sweetly in English, a melancholic song that made Rumi’s heart ache. She nudged her door open more.

She heard another door slide open, and Mira peeked her head out. Her eyes caught Rumi’s and the taller girl smiled. No words were exchanged, neither of them wanted to disturb the song.

Mira pulled out her phone, tapping and swiping across the screen. Rumi wished she could have had a phone. She knew of them, and roughly how to use one, but she’d learned it from Celine. All she knew was how a phone could be practical, not how it could be fun.

Mira held the phone up to the air for several seconds, and then looked at it. She smiled and turned the phone toward Rumi.

Song Title: Name

Artist: Goo Goo Dolls

Rumi nodded. She’d never heard of the song, nor the band. It was like that with a lot of Zoey’s music, her being from California. She liked a lot of the songs Zoey had showed her and Mira, but she quickly found that a big part of her love for music was hearing the message. It was harder to fall in love with the song when the message had to be translated, where the lyrics sounded like gibberish. 

Even so, when Zoey sang them, it was such sweet and soulful gibberish that Rumi almost didn’t care.

As the song tapered off, Mira murmured. “I’m gonna add it to the playlist. I think she’d like that.”

The playlist was Zoey’s idea. Since they were to be musical idols, they should bond over music. Since Rumi didn’t have a phone, Mira and Zoey shared it between theirs, and they had interrogated Rumi for an entire hour about songs she liked. 

“Add ‘One’ by Epik High, too. I heard her listening to that earlier.” Rumi noted. 

“Roger that.” Mira said with a salute.

Zoey’s door slid open, her guitar still hung across her torso, “Hey.” She said as she pulled off her headphones. “What’re we talking about?”

“Songs to add to the playlist.” Mira answered.

“Ooh… um…” Zoey oooed and ummed for a moment before she shrugged, “I can’t think of anything.”

Rumi let herself smile a little, imagining the first time that song would play. She figured that Zoey would probably stare at the speaker with wide eyes before shoving it down, and then humming along contentedly. Mira would smirk because even though Zoey thought she was subtle, they noticed it when things made her happy. 

The last two months of her life had been so much. Terrifying, wonderful, overwhelming. It wasn’t at all what she had expected, but even she wasn’t inept enough to fail to see how special they were to her.

Out of sheer fear she’d resigned herself to distance. Turn the Honmoon golden, and only once that was achieved could she then give in to the urge she had to hold them.  

Why had she ever thought that could be? How could she really think she could hold herself back from their kindness? From the fun and joy and life they injected into everything?

She wanted nothing more than to continue to revel in their presence. 

But a sick, familiar feeling rattled her gut. It shuddered along her skin and tore the smile from her face. In all her life she’d felt nothing worse than this: The feeling of the Honmoon’s wailing.

Oh no. 

Rumi jumped up, her gaze scanning the other two hunters for a moment.

Not yet.

They aren’t ready yet.

“Stay here!” Rumi said quickly as she bolted around the corner.

She ran through the kitchen and down the hallway to Celine’s office—where she almost slammed into her mentor.

“Celine!” Rumi yelped as she stuttered to a stop. “I’m coming with you.”

Celine shook her head. “No. You’re staying with the girls.”

“But I’m rea-“

“Rumi.” Celine’s tone locked her in place. So sharp it sliced through her spine, rendering her paralyzed.

Don’t you dare be a problem. 

Don’t you dare disobey an order

A Hunter wouldn’t do that

Only a demon would do that

And you’re not a demon, right?

“Y…Yes, Celine.” Rumi forced out, but every bone in her body wanted her to say: “No, I’m obviously coming with you!”

Celine disappeared through the door, and Rumi stood for a moment in the kitchen, shoving down everything. She had no right to be upset. She’d never fought actual demons before. And she had just told Mira and Zoey the exact same thing Celine told her. She had absolutely no right.

“Rumi, what’s going on?” Zoey’s voice caught her off guard. 

You better not have tears in your eyes. “It’s okay.” Rumi responded, hesitating before turning. “False alarm.”

The other two shared a glance before Mira shrugged. “Okay... Where’s Celine?”

“Dealing with something.” Rumi said dismissively, feigning ignorance as she glanced at the clock. “I’m gonna start lunch.”

“Wait, why don’t we all cook something together?” Zoey suggested. “It could be so fun!”

“What did you have in mind?” Mira asked, flicking a gaze that said ‘This will end in disaster’ to Rumi. The sting from earlier lessened with that look, like Mira had unknowingly rubbed a salve over the wound.

“I must see the goods first.” Zoey jumped up onto the counter and started rifling through cabinets. 

“Zoey…” Rumi groaned.

“I’m making sure we have everything!” Zoey chirped from above them.

“To make what?” Mira asked. “And—get down.” Mira grabbed Zoey by the waist and yanked her off the counter. Zoey tried to wriggle out of Mira’s hold but her grip was like a vice.

“Unhand me, you lanky giant!”

“Nope. What are we making?”

Zoey finally resigned to pouting in Mira’s arms. “Cookies.” She said with a short and bratty tone

“Total toddler, this one.” Mira snickered as she released Zoey. “What kind of cookies?”

“I don’t know, just cookies! Whatever we can make!”

“Cookies have almost no nutritional value to us.” Rumi pointed out. “That’s not gonna help our training… like at all.”

“There’s egg in there. That’s protein.”

“Doused in a bucket of sugar and butter.” 

“That’s not important. Health is so not the point of cookies!” Zoey retorted as she pulled out her phone

“Spoken like a true American.” Mira snickered.

“C’mon, we aren’t that bad.” Zoey said. 

“Guess I gotta take your word for it.” Mira shrugged.

“Ooh, here’s a recipe! Rumi, do we have chocolate chips here?”

Rumi mentally scanned the kitchen. We haven’t bought chocolate chips in a long time… “No, definitely not.”

“Dang it…”

“Can’t we just leave them out?” Mira suggested.

“Okay, chocolate chip cookies without the chocolate chips is blasphemy. That’s like making… um…”

“-cookies?” Rumi finished. Mira broke out laughing, and Zoey’s eyes might as well have had a fire burning behind them. “You both suck.”

“You love us.” Mira cooed, her voice utterly soaked in mockery.

“Bleh.” Zoey stuck her tongue out, and Rumi couldn’t help the joy climbing up her throat. She only let the shortest of chuckles out, but it was enough to earn her a subtle glance from Mira.

“Okay, so, cookies?” Rumi grabbed a large mixing bowl, but then she found herself frozen. How on Earth do you make cookies?

She knew her way around the kitchen. She’d grown up making meals for her and Celine. She knew how to adjust a seasoning by taste alone, knew all the subtle tricks to make the food just perfectly cooked and sauced. She didn’t even need recipes anymore.

But all of that experience surrounded food for training. It was always about enough energy to train; she’d never bothered to make a dessert. Aside from a mixing bowl, she was out of ideas. 

Am I supposed to know about this? Am I weird for not knowing how to bake? Zoey seems to know some stuff.

Zoey knows a lot of random stuff though.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” She admitted.

“Nobody does, that’s what recipes are for!” Zoey shrugged as she tapped her phone. “Speaking of… Wala!” She turned her phone around to reveal a website with a recipe. “First off: preheat the oven to… 180… what?” She read.

Mira leaned over and did just that. “Check.”

“Why is it so low?” Zoey muttered to herself.

“That’s not low.” Mira said with a shrug.

“Yeah i-Oh… whoops. Nevermind.” Zoey shook her head.

“What?” Mira asked.

“I just got mixed up. My bad. 180’s right. Anyway, now we need to put—da da-duh da-duh—the flour, baking soda, and salt in one bowl. Ooh, and put the playlist on!”

They carried on, measuring out the powders while Rumi took Mira’s phone and found the playlist. But, instead of hitting ‘Random,’ she scrolled until she found their newest addition. 

In the meantime, Mira dropped a cup full of flour, spilling it all over the counter. Zoey immediately declared war and threw a handful of it at her.

“Truce! Truce!” Mira yelped.

Zoey didn’t look like she was going to stop, but Rumi found the song and tapped it. When the familiar strumming kicked up, Zoey stalled.

“You’re good at playing guitar.” Mira said with a smile.

Rumi took advantage of the moment of calm to look at the absolute disaster the pair inflicted upon the kitchen in a matter of seconds.This was going to take forever to clean up. 

“What’s next?” She asked.

Zoey snapped out of the trace, glancing at her phone again “Mix the butter and sugar—oh, separate bowl from the dry stuff. I guess the world ends if you mix them all up.”

“Huh… okay.” Rumi pulled out a second bowl, and they mashed the sugar into the butter before realizing it was a horrific idea that ended with hands too buttery to handle the soap. Zoey volunteered to wield the beater—her words. 

Zoey was incredibly responsible, dutifully whipping the butter and sugar together—until she immediately held the electric beater in front of them and pulled the trigger. Little chunks of butter-sugar flew everywhere.

“ZOEY!” Rumi and Mira shouted in unison. 

“I am so going to kill you.” Mira wiped a chunk of the mix from her face and mashed it into Zoey’s forehead. Then she dug her fingers into Zoey’s sides, tickling her into the floor.

“Mercy! Have mercy I beg!” Zoey cried as laughter tore through her.

Mira eventually relented, leaving Zoey tear struck, sprawled on the kitchen floor with flour and mix smeared all over her face. She climbed back up to the counter, theatrically laying her arms across it and using it to haul herself back up as though her legs didn’t work.

“Next step?”

Zoey zipped to her phone, “Next up: Add eggs and the vanilla extract into the butter and sugar.” She smiled maniacally at the beater as she reached for it, but Rumi snatched it away before she could.

“Absolutely not. You’re banned from the beater.”

Mira grabbed the eggs and cracked them into the bowl while Zoey measured out the vanilla. Rumi set the beater in and pushed the trigger to “high”

“Wait don-“ Zoey started to yell, but she was cut off by the roar of the appliance as batter flew from the bowl, spattering all of them all over again. Rumi shut it off half a second later.

“Okay, you’re both banned from the beater.” Mira carefully removed it from Rumi’s grasp as she went to mix it. 

“At least mine was an accident.” Rumi muttered.

“I regret nothing.” Zoey declared with a smirk.

Amazingly, pouring the wet bowl into the dry bowl went without catastrophe, and before they knew it they had a dough. Zoey broke off a fistful and bit into it. “Hey, it’s actually pretty good!”

“Zoey, don’t eat it! Raw eggs, salmonella!” Rumi warned her, but Zoey only smirked.

“Propaganda.” She said through another mouthful.

They balled up the dough and placed them on the pan. Zoey was very insistent that they be arranged properly. She pulled open the oven door while Rumi slid the tray in.

As they shut the oven a silent, and overwhelming feeling of victory washed over Rumi. They stared at the oven in utter awe of themselves.

The euphoria lasted about three seconds before Rumi became keenly aware of the disaster they’d made. Every inch of them was coated in flour, sugar, or batter. The same went for the entirety of the kitchen counter and much of the floor. 

“Celine’s gonna kill us.” Zoey murmured.

“Oh, we’re absolutely dead.” Mira agreed.

Rumi sighed as she dragged the trashcan over, unsure whether she should laugh or whine at the trail it left through the flour on the floor. “Go get changed.” She said, biting back the chuckle on the base of her tongue.

“Rumi obviously we’re helping. We’ll change after.” Mira slid her arm along the counter, while she pulled the trashcan lid off altogether with her other hand. She used her arm like a broom, sweeping the pile of floury, battery mess into the open can. 

They continued like that, and then while Rumi grabbed the broom, Zoey wiped down the counters until they looked clean. 

Mira started the dishes, Zoey joining to help while Rumi finished up the sweeping and checked on the cookies. 

“You guys think they’re done?”

Zoey wiped her hands on an overworked towel before crouching down to look at the oven. “Eh, probably.” She grabbed an oven mitt and slid the tray out, setting it on the stove. “I’m sure they’re done.”

“Oh yeah, you sure sound like it.” Mira said from the sink.

Zoey only gave a shrug, “Hey, gooey cookies are good, too. It’s a win either way!”

“I admit: this could have gone far worse than it did.” Rumi mumbled. 

Once the cleanup was completed, they moved the cookies to a plate and shifted to the table. Zoey grabbed one and took a bite. “Okay… these are pretty good, but they’d be WAY better with chocolate.” She said as she took another bite. 

Rumi reached for a cookie and bit into it. It was actually really good. A vague, distant memory of her and Celine baking cookies surfaced in her mind. She’d forgotten about it, but the way the warm, sweet taste crumbled on her tongue dug it back up. How long ago had that been?

“They’re good.” Rumi murmured. 

“Yeah, we made some good cookies.” Mira added, already reaching for a second cookie. “Hey, Rumi?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’d Celine go?”

“I told you, she’s dealing with something.”

“Rumi, we aren’t stupid. Just tell us what’s going on.”

Rumi sighed. “Celine went to take care of a tear in the Honmoon.”

“The Honmoon can tear??” Zoey jumped up. “I didn’t know that! What does that mean?!”

“It’s okay, Celine dealt with it. She’s probably on her way back right now.” Rumi reassured them. “The Honmoon can tear, and demons can get into our world through the tears. That’s why we have to know how to fight.”

“How often does it tear?” Mira asked.

“Not that often.” Rumi reassured them. “We’re perfectly safe. The Sunlight Sisters’ careers strengthened the Honmoon a lot. We’re on track to turn it golden once we start performing.”

“Okay…” Zoey sighed in relief. “So, how do we turn it golden?”

“By… performing. Uniting people’s souls in song. Every time we step on stage we’ll be strengthening the Honmoon.”

“Have you ever fought them?” Mira asked.

Rumi shook her head. Celine’s words tore through her:

‘You’re not ready, Rumi. Stay here.’

‘You will stay with the girls.’

“Celine doesn’t think I’m ready yet.” She said with a shrug. “So, no.”

“If you’re not ready, Mira and I are totally screwed.” Zoey pointed out. “I’d rather make it quick and just leap off a cliff than be on your bad side.”

“We’ll get there. I know we will.” Rumi responded. 

What if they grow too far?

They won’t. We’ll turn it golden.

But if they spread far enough I can’t hide them anymore.

I don’t have forever.

Before her thoughts could unravel any further, the door slid open, and Celine walked in. She had a scratch on her cheek, but besides that she was unharmed. 

“You made cookies.” Celine observed. She walked over and took one, biting off a little chunk.

“Not bad.”

“Is the Honmoon okay?” Zoey spoke up. Celine glanced at her before her gaze flicked toward Rumi. “The Honmoon is fine. It was a routine tear.”

As Celine walked back toward her office, but she stopped right at her door.

“Don’t forget about your evening regiment.” She called over her shoulder as she slid open the door and shut it behind her.

Zoey stared at the remaining cookies with dread. “I forgot about evening training.”

“This might hurt.” Mira groaned as she got up. “Cmon, Rumi. Let’s go run around until we die—all thanks to Zoey’s great baking idea.”

They trained for an hour before Zoey’s stomach finally gave out. She made it to the bushes, saving Rumi from having to see a pool of vomit.

“Please let the demons kill me.” Zoey whined as she rinsed out her mouth.

“You know, you probably would’ve been fine if you hadn’t eaten half the dough while it was still raw.” Mira pointed out

“Well, someone had to make sure it turned out right!” Zoey argued

“There’s definitely a better way than eating it.” 

“Disagree.” Zoey shoved herself off the fence, clearly pretending her stomach wasn’t still twisting violently inside her.

Rumi grinned, watching them go up and back in their bickering. Too many things had been running through her head at every hour of the day. Things that could happen in the future, both good and bad. Fear of not knowing if they would succeed. Wondering when—or if—she’d be ready.

But in that moment, Rumi couldn’t hear the darkness in her head. She couldn’t feel the drag on her limbs, or the protests from her stomach. It was just her and the only two people who could really make her smile.

Chapter Text

Consequences always had a way of catching up with her, but the other foot usually dropped quickly.

When she’d walk away from a fight, scarcely did the throb in her knuckles die down before someone dragged her into an office and gave her hell for it.

It was rare that Mira could go home that day and not see her parents, all cross-armed and stone-faced, the same day as an incident.

After nearly three months at the Sanctuary, though, Mira felt fairly assured that her departure had been seen as a problem solved. That she’d never have to say another word to them.

She decided she’d shove down that stupid part of her who kept hoping for ridiculous things and move on with her life. After all, if three months could pass with no sign of life in the trenches? The war was probably over.

It happened during training. She was with Rumi, grabbing a drink of water while they watched Zoey jump around and rip apart training dummies. Mira loved watching them fight, but the sheer energy Zoey brought to a fight was both exhilarating and exhausting to watch.

She moved as though gravity didn’t exist unless she wanted it to. She bounced off the balls of her feet, flitting about like a hummingbird, before stilling herself just long enough to attempt to throw a handful of shin-kal. She missed a lot, but at least she was missing mainly on more difficult throws. 

If there was one thing Mira knew about Zoey, it was that her athleticism was not her weakness. 

As if to reaffirm Mira’s thought, Zoey flipped over a dummy and whipped a dagger into its back. 

Shit… that was cool.

“Sick shot, Zo!” Mira called out. The girl flashed her a smile that Mira was going to return if her attention wasn’t snatched by the sound of her phone buzzing.

It terrified her at first—Zoey or Celine were the only two people who would have texted her, but Zoey was pretty obviously not on her phone at the moment. And Celine was standing by the fence watching Zoey with what would have looked like pride on anyone else’s face.

She picked up her phone and her heart turned to ice. The taste of sweat in her mouth turned to nothing but bitterness as she stared at the notification:

Mother 👹🤢🤮

Missed Call

Such a bitter taste.

Too bitter.

“Mira?” Rumi leaned in ever so slightly, and Mira balled up the twinge of irritation and mashed it down under it was gone, packed away in the recesses of her mind. She cleared her throat. “I think I have to take this.”

She ignored the tremor in her hand as she swiped open the banner. If I don’t answer they’ll get pushy. They’d track me. I’m such an idiot.

Why did I bring my phone with me?

The phone vibrated in her hand as she brought it up to her ear. She waited. 

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

Four-the phone clicked as a familiar voice drifted out. “Mira.”

Mira swallowed. “Mother.”

“This has gone on long enough. We will be sending a car to fetch you.”

“Pass.”

“This is not a negotiation. Do you even realize how poorly it reflects on your famil-“

“-on your family when you act in such irresponsible ways-blah blah blah.” Mira felt the smirk on her face as she realized her mother couldn’t do anything from here. Her mother’s hand couldn’t reach her. Her stare couldn’t even reach her. “Come on, Mother. Change up the verse once in a while.”

There was a beat of silence just long enough for the knot of unease to tighten in Mira. She wanted to kick herself. She’s hundreds of kilometers away, and I’m getting nervous. 

She wanted so badly not to care. Not to give a crap about them. But they knew where she was, and she was starting to feel the dreadful the weight of what they could do.

Her mothers voice cut through the phone like a knife. “If you won’t listen to reason, your father and I will come down and collect you ourselves. This rebellious streak you have going on will not be tolerated any further. There will be changes, Mira.”

“Fuck off, you witch.”

Why am I egging her on? Shut up, idiot!

The phone beeped as the line went dead. Mira didn’t know what to do. The weight from before had quickly become unbearable.

There was no battling with them. 

They were on their way. To take her back.

She couldn’t do anything. No power to say ‘no,’ no power to change their minds or compromise.  

The webbing of her thumb ached as she realized how tightly she was gripping her phone. She felt her blood start to boil—a feeling too familiar for comfort. 

It was the same feeling that rose up when she was stuck between what she knew was right and what her parents were forcing. That sick and itchy and familiar heat under her skin that had to be released, or else her body would burst to relieve the pressure. 

But there was no bully to hit now. No fight to have. Sparring wasn’t meant to be cathartic like that. The dummies were too far away. Too easy. Something had to happen, and now.

Mira screamed, wildly and uncontrolled, letting rage rip out of her throat like an animal was desperate to escape. She whipped her phone across the arena. It smashed into the fence post only a few meters away from Rumi, who jumped reflexively. 

“Mira?” Rumi walked over, holding up her hand like she was going to do something, mouth slightly open like she was going to say something. Fear in her eyes, like Mira was going to kill her. Mira shook her head, and walked to her phone. It was shattered. The screen displayed two vertical green bars. 

“I’m fine.” Mira mumbled. 

She expected Rumi to run. Whenever Rumi didn’t know what to do, she usually took off to who knows where. Whatever. Just let her bolt. Mira thought as she tried to get control of her heartbeat and settle the sizzle in her bloodstream.

What she did not expect was a hand on her shoulder. By some miracle, she didn’t listen to the scream of her body to jerk the hand away and throw a haphazard punch in its direction.

Instead she turned, and Rumi’s eyes met hers. Those big, brown eyes she’d seen in dreams. The eyes she’d known before she even knew the person who owned them. They soothed her in silence as Rumi’s grip turned into a sort of rub, like Zoey did sometimes. “Are… Are you okay?” Rumi asked.

Mira nodded her head. She worried that if she tried to talk, tears would come instead. And she was not about to cry in front of Rumi.

“Mira! What happened?” Zoey hurdled the fence and jogged a few more steps.

Celine was a few paces behind, though Mira hadn’t even heard her approaching. “Mira.” Her voice was emotionless, matter of fact. Mira looked up, and instinct took over. 

Get away from me. Now! Before I blow the one good thing up. 

Blood’s boiling.

Don’t get angry.

Don’t lose your shit.

“I’m fine, okay? I just… got stressed.” She pushed herself up, holding her shattered phone as she started walking inside. “Don’t follow me.” 

Her entire life was different now. She’d been around nobody except those three who were kind and loving and oh so sweet to her—well, not Celine. But even when Celine reminded Mira of the witch she’d run from, it wasn’t quite the same. 

At least Celine had a half-decent reason to have the stick up her ass, fate of the world and all.

But Zoey and Rumi were good. Good for her, good to her. She thought she’d started getting better at this, that she’d managed to make herself open enough to avoid feeling like this. 

“Damn it!” She threw a punch into her mattress, but it didn’t soothe her nerves. The next punch was dealt to the wall, a shockwave of pain exploding in her knuckles. The the wood responded with a loud thwack that echoed through Mira’s mind. The pain brought her back to reality as her breathing finally seemed to stabilize. 

I’m not going to cry. I’m not doing it. Not crying.

She curled up into her bed and forced her eyes to stay closed. She regretted storming off. She regretted telling them not to follow her. 

She didn’t want to be alone. It was right around now that Aera would have gently knocked and asked Mira if she could come in.

Aera’s not here.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there, curled up in a ball, refusing to let any tears fall. She almost didn’t hear the hesitant knock at her door.

“Mira?” Rumi’s voice. Mira stood up, unsure if she should open the door. Another knock followed. She sighed, and rolled off the bed. She unlocked it and cracked the door, but she couldn’t open it all the way. She stood for a moment, and then sat down on the bed. Everything she was doing felt wrong. 

Rumi nudged the door open, and sat down next to Mira. “We don’t have to talk about it.” She said quickly. “I know that’s not really your thing.”

“Thank you.”

Rumi didn’t push. “Celine said she’d fix your phone.”

“How nice of her.”

The silence ran long before Rumi spoke again.

“You had a missed call f-“

“Don’t.”

Rumi tensed up. Damn it. Mira thought. Why did I do that? I know she takes things personally. Mira tried to think about what she could say to fix it. In the end: “Rumi, I’m not mad at you.” was all she could come up with.

Rumi nodded, “I want to help make you feel better.” She said, her voice leveled and practiced. “You’re… important. To me. And to Zoey.”

You have no idea what you’re doing, Rumi. Mira thought. All she could do was laugh. How did this little weirdo become one of my best friends? 

“Thanks, Rumi…” 

Her thoughts were slowly regaining sanity. She couldn’t stop her parents from coming. That much was obvious. 

That didn’t mean she was leaving that easily. If Hong Mira knew how to do anything, it was how to start—and finish—a fight.

Get up, we gotta go deal with this. Mira pushed off the bed, glancing back at Rumi. 

“Hey… thanks. You’re totally weird… but you helped.”

Mira caught the tiny ghost of a smile that played across Rumi’s lips—which was, for Rumi, the emotional equivalent of jumping up and down while cheering. 

“I’ll be back.”

Mira walked down the hallway, straight to Celine’s office. She didn’t like Celine. Didn’t like how cold she was, or how similar she could be to her mother. She really didn’t like how hard she was on Rumi. Mira and Zoey didn’t get the same harshness, and it was a big thorn in Mira’s side. 

But, despite all of that, Celine was their mentor, and she was good at it. 

Celine had another perk: she knew how to convince people to do things. Much to Mira’s chagrin, Celine could move mountains with her words. 

In any other world, she would have given up and acted out. Run off, start a fight, maybe even a fire, thinking: fuck it, why not? 

But for once in her life she felt genuine stakes to her actions. Felt like, just this once, acting out and keeping cool wouldn’t have the same outcomes.

I don’t want to leave them. I won’t lose them. Mira resolved.

She took a long breath, psyching herself up before she finally knocked on the door. Celine opened it. “Yes?” She said, like she already knew what Mira was going to say. 

“I have a problem.” She said.

Celine’s gaze felt too familiar. Mira fought back the urge to say “You remind me of my bitch of a mother.” and instead said, “I ran away from home when I went to the audition.”

Celine nodded, unsurprised. “I figured that much.”

Mira was surprised, “You didn’t like… stop me?”

“Did you want someone to stop you?”

Her jaw tightened. “Fair enough.”

She took in a breath, trying to will her heart to maintain a normal pace. “My parents are on the way. To get me.”

Celine didn’t say anything, just sat there, like she had decided already that Mira wasn’t done talking. 

She felt like she had to pry open her own mouth. “…And I don’t want to go with them.”

Still silence.

Mira groaned. “I- I need your help.” 

Celine sighed, finally seeming satisfied. She leaned back in her chair and tapped her finger against her desk. “Is it safe to assume the whole ‘your daughter is following her dream’ speech isn’t something that will resonate with them?”

Bitter memories flashed through Mira’s mind. “Not a damn bit.”

“How about money?”

“Money?”

“Can they be bought?” 

Mira shrugged. She wished the answer was no. She wished a large pile of money wasn’t good enough to convince a girl’s parents to leave their daughter with a random lady who lived in the woods. 

But Mira knew better.

“That’d probably work.” She answered, trying not to sound as pathetic as she felt. “You guessed I’d be the problematic one, didn’t you?”

“It was foolishly negligent to assume that the backlash from this wouldn’t come.” Celine’s eyes pierced like daggers. She meant: You were stupid to assume they wouldn’t come after you.

Mira shivered. Is this what Rumi grew up with? No wonder she’s so awkward and squirrelly. “I genuinely did not think they’d care if I left.”

“I understand. We’ll deal with it.” Celine said. “Go on, now. You girls still have training to do. I’ll be out once I get this properly sorted.”

Mira nodded, shoving off the feeling that she was the thing that Celine was trying to sort. She walked back to her room. Rumi still sat on her bed, eyes on the floor. “Hey.” Mira lightly tapped her hand against the doorframe to get Rumi’s attention. “Celine said we should finish training.”

At the mention of Celine, Rumi quickly jumped up. “Right.” The girl took two steps before Mira saw her stall again. “Mira?”

“Yeah?”

Rumi’s eyes flicked about Mira’s room, her expression was sheepish. Mira was about to turn and leave when the lavender-haired girl finally met her gaze—and actually held it. “What happened? What’s going to happen?”

Mira couldn’t help but smile a little. Not at the questions—the questions made her want to cry, or throw her fist back into the wall. It wasn’t the words that made her smile. It was what the words meant.

Rumi was always… difficult to handle.

It was hard to keep her from overworking—something she always did. 

It was hard to get her to talk—something she never did. 

Over the last three months, Mira had watched enough to be able to read Rumi’s habits like a book, but she still couldn’t figure out exactly how Rumi acquired said habits. 

Mira knew when she was in her head, but never why. She knew it when Rumi was thinking about ditching her food or her sleep to go train, but she didn’t know what things triggered her to start thinking that way. 

She knew Rumi’s playbook, but she couldn’t figure out why Rumi flipped from one page to another.

For the first time, Mira heard the why in the what. Rumi was scared. She was scared that Mira might leave. Scared of things changing. Scared of being left alone. Mira knew that. And that meant that she knew how to respond. 

“I don’t know what’ll happen, Ru.” Mira took her hand, and Rumi didn’t shy away this time, “But I’m not leaving. They’ll have to kill me and drag my corpse out of here. That’s the only way I’m leaving you two.”

She nodded, but as Mira went to turn around, she saw Rumi on the edge of her vision as her body relaxed. Her shoulders dropped, her face slipped into relief. And Mira couldn’t help but feel a warmth in her chest.

————

When they went back out to train, Zoey eyed them carefully. Mira glanced down at Rumi. She couldn’t deny the weird feeling hanging in the air. 

She knew something happened. Zoey couldn’t hide her emotions for the life of her, and Rumi hid them too systematically. But for now, she ignored it and focused on training.

They ate dinner like everything wasn’t about to explode. 

They went to sleep like everything was okay. 

Celine didn’t say a word. Neither did Rumi, though it’s not like Mira was expecting a speech or some crap from either of them. They weren’t that sort.

It was Zoey’s silence that shocked her. Mira knew Zoey wasn’t stupid; she watched too. And Zoey was an obvious meddler on top of it.

Mira felt a tugging in her chest. A nagging sensation that told her the biggest surprise today wasn’t that Rumi was the one who knocked, but that Zoey wasn’t. 

After dinner, Mira was sitting on her bed, trying to resist the urge to chew her fingernail off, when Zoey nudged the door open.

She was quieter, smaller, like she was nervous to exist in the room. “Hey, can I come in?”

“You’re alre- yeah. Come on in.” Mira shifted to make room. Zoey sat down. “So… your parents are coming?”

“Yup.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault that my folks are assholes.” Mira felt venom on her tongue as she said the last word.

Did Zoey just wince? 

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Zoey said. “It… seems like you are?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Rumi ‘talked’ me down.” Mira said with air quotes. “That girl is denser than lead when it comes to talking.” Mira expected Zoey to laugh at something like that, but the girl only gave a breathy giggle before quieting down again. What’s with her?

“Zo, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good!” Zoey smiled and flashed two thumbs-ups. Mira couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, but, just like with Rumi, she hadn’t quite figured out Zoey’s why’s yet.

“Thanks for checking up on me.”

“Always here to annoy you!” Zoey joked.

“Nah, you’re not annoying. Persistent, maybe.”

The silence that formed began to thicken, like both of them had something they didn’t quite want to bring up. Zoey cut through it with a drawn-out yawn before it could start to suffocate them.

“Holy wowza… I’m so tired.” She stretched and slid off the bed, “Night, Mira.”

“Night, Zo.”

Mira laid down, but she didn’t sleep. 

Her mind was alive now with memories she wanted to abandon. Feelings she wanted to rip out of her skin and leave on the floor to fester.

All her life she’d done the good girl act. She dressed in their stupid dresses, even though she didn’t like them. She went to their weird rich people gatherings where nobody did anything except sip from half-full glasses and bicker about someone on the other side of the room.

That night, she’d been tired. Exhausted, really. The stomachache-headache duo was only making her feel more and more miserable. She went up to her mother, who was surrounded by people and tugged at the hem of her shirt. “Mom?” She said.

Her mother waved her hand in Mira’s face as she kept talking.

“Mom I don’t feel good, can we please go home?”

Another wave. Mira tried again, “Mom I-“

In a flash her mother was at eye-level, “Will you stop being such a little brat?” She hissed, her voice too quiet for anyone except Mira to hear.

“But-“

“Behave yourself.”

Mira tried not to cry. Her head was still pounding. The lights were too bright. Her stomach still twisting under her ribs. She thought she might puke. 

She saw her dad walking toward a table of food, and she ran up to him. “Dad I don’t feel well, can we go home?”

Her dad shook his head, “Mira I’m working out a deal with a tech company right now, we can’t leave yet. Go splash some water on your face, you’ll be fine.”

“Dad I really don’t fe-“

“Mira. Enough.” his voice turned from business to scolding, low and sharp.

She did as she was told. Except while she was in the bathroom, the stomachache turned rancid. She dove into one of the stalls and puked her guts out. Her head throbbed. Dinner was gone, but her body kept trying to banish something she didn’t have in her. The bitter taste of bile burned her throat. 

Thick, toxic-yellow bile that only triggered another twist of her organs. 

She flushed the toilet and leaned back against the wall, the pain in her head throbbing as her stomach tensed again. Not enough to make her puke again, but enough to tell her this wasn’t a one-off.

She heard the door open, but paid it no mind. Whoever had walked in probably didn’t care either. 

Then her stomach tensed again. Another retch, another dry-heave. Painful. So, so painful. 

There was a knock on the door. “You okay in there?” She vaguely recognized the voice, but she couldn’t remember from where.

“Do I sound okay?” Mira hadn’t meant to be so… angry, when she said it. 

The stranger left, and then a few minutes later, her mother’s voice reverberated against the walls. “Mira, open the door.”

She did, and her mother stood her up, triggering a rush in Mira’s head that made her stagger. “Why didn’t you tell us you were going to throw up?”

I was trying to!

Mira felt that familiar feeling claw its way back up her throat. Anger. She shoved it down. They didn’t want to leave, Dad was trying to make sure we made money.

. . . . . . . . 

Mira darted into her parents’ room. “Mom, Dad!”

“Yes?”

“There’s this cool camp thing this summer, for like, future idols. Can I go? I really wanna go!”

“Mira, your dad was going to start teaching you and your brother about the business so that you can have a future. You really want to throw that away for some stupid camp?

‘Stupid.’ I didn’t think it was stupid.

“I just thought it’d be cool…”

“Mira, you and your brother are going to run this company someday. Show it some respect.”

“But I don’t want to run a company.”

“Oh, pshh” Her mother waved her hand again. “You will.”

That feeling rose up again. The bitter teeth in her mind that forced her rigid. “No. I won’t. I don’t want that.”

“Stop being so ungrateful. We’re doing this for you.”

Are you? 

“You never listen to me!” Mira yelled. “I don’t want to run some stupid company!”

Her dad’s hand on her shoulder jarred her. He spun her around to face him. He was angry. 

“How fucking dare you be so disrespectful!”

Mira backed up until the wall stopped her. Her dad kept screaming, the words falling into a haze between her ears and her brain. Tears coming onto her face. 

And then she tried to run. A hand on her wrist stopped her and yanked her back. Dad was still yelling, shoving his finger into her collarbone. No words registered. Just fear. Fear and tears and she wanted so badly to just get out of there.

She did everything they’d asked. She just didn’t want this one thing. When she was finally sent to her room, she sat on her bed in tears.

“We’re doing this for you!” Rang through her head. 

But they weren’t doing it for her. If they were, they would have heard her. Heard she didn’t want it, right? 

They don’t care about me. They don’t. You can’t care about someone and then scream at them like you hate them. They don’t care.

Why don’t they care?

Mira sat up, her mind recognizing a path it had never allowed her to take.

Why do I care?

I know what I want. They don’t care about what I want.

Screw this. Why do I try so hard if this is where it’s getting me? 

A few days later, she saw two boys at school snickering over a name she knew. And maybe a week ago she would have ignored it. But the snickers felt too familiar in their viciousness. They cut too harshly and too close to home.

You don’t get to insult him. Mira thought as she balled her fists.

“Hey!”

The boys turned. “What?”

“Don’t talk about my brother like that.” Mira stared down at them—she’d been taller than almost everyone in her class for as long as she could remember.

“That little freak is your brother? Wow. That’s sad.”

The words were like cranking the heat under a pressure cooker in Mira’s head.

“Don’t call him that.”

“What are you gonna do about it? Tell a teacher?” Their voices were dripping with smugness. Her fist balled up tighter.

She couldn’t even think about it. The absolute inferno roasting her blood demanded action . Demanded movement. Progress, an event, something loud and prominent. And she gave into the urge.

The boy on her right staggered back before he tripped and fell. Mira saw a glimmer of red as he threw his hand over his nose and wailed.

The other boy went to shove her, but Mira kicked him square in between his legs before she beat him to the shove. He hit the wall, and Mira pounced. 

In the first movement, it had been about defending Jiho. Now it wasn’t just about her brother.

It ran deeper. So much deeper

Years of pent up frustration. Of silence. Obedience. So much time spent simmering with a lid tightly clasped overtop.

The pressure cooker exploded. The lid was gone. Blown up when she threw that first punch.

Hands dragged her away from the boy. Someone she barely recognized spun her around, screaming. 

The words didn’t register again.

But she wasn’t scared anymore. She looked back at the two boys; who were being helped to their feet. The boy against the wall looked at her like she was an animal.

Whatever. At least I wanted to do that.

————

Mira watched the clock for the entire morning. Any minute now her parents could arrive. If they had arrived last night, it would have meant they left immediately after the phone call and sped straight there. 

Naturally, Mira had known they weren’t going to show up until today. 

If they arrived before noon, it meant they had left right away, but likely stopped somewhere just long enough to sleep, maybe rented a hotel room somewhere nearby. 

She highly doubted that. 

Most likely, they wouldn’t arrive until the evening. They probably spent the night at home, and were just getting into the car now. 

That was the most likely.

Or, who knew, maybe they’d decided that now wasn’t the time to pretend they loved the problem child. Maybe. 

She prayed that they weren’t even thinking about loading up the car, or that she’d get a text that they didn’t love her and never wanted to see her again. 

At least then it would finally confirm to her that the feeling was mutual. That she wasn’t the crazy one.

For now, though, all she could do was wait. She went about her day. She trained, she completed house chores, and she did everything in her power not to look at the clock—there was little in her power.

The evening crept along, and Mira felt herself getting tenser and tenser. Zoey and Rumi were sitting on the couch at 6:41 when they all heard the sound of an engine. 

Mira’s heart plummeted. She stood up and walked over. When Zoey and Rumi stood; Mira held up her hand. “Just stay.” She said as she walked around the corner.

Celine opened the door. “Please, come in.” 

And there they were. Mom and Dad… and Jiho. 

They entered, and stared at Mira like she was a cat picked up and dragged to the animal shelter. Her mother stepped forward first. “Mira, get your things.”

Mira smirked. “Fuck off.”

Celine sighed. “Mira. Language.” She shot her a look that said: don’t make this harder than it already will be.

“Come, please. We have some things I think we ought to discuss.”

“Our daughter is coming home. Mira, now.” Her mother’s voice sharpened. 

Mira stood straighter. “You want to hear what she has to say. Also, no.”

Celine managed to convince them into a conversation. Yet another mountain moved.

“I do apologize. Despite her more unique qualities, your daughter has a lot of potential. We feel that her role in a project we’re working on at Sunlight Entertainment is vital. If I’d known-“ The door to her office shutting sealed off their ability to hear.

Jiho sat next to her on the couch, clearly uninterested in the negotiations. Zoey and Rumi looked at her in a way that Mira just knew meant to ask: ‘Do you want us to kill him?’

She responded with a barely noticeable shake of her head—it was more like a subtle jerk to the side—and Zoey tucked her chin into her palm like she’d really wanted Mira to say yes.

She felt herself growing more and more impatient. Her leg nervously bounced the way Zoey’s always did. It wasn’t even five minutes before she stood up. 

“I’m not gonna sit here while a bunch of other people decide my future.” She started toward the office before turning to Jiho. 

“I’d keep being a good little puppet if I were you, because those two?” She flicked her hand toward them, “They bite.”

Zoey’s face split with a menacing smirk, like she was just itching for an excuse. Mira stifled a laugh, a smile that devious and violent did not belong on a girl as sweet and loving as Zoey. 

Her joy slipped underneath the surface as she redirected her attention to the situation. She rounded the corner and pulled open Celine’s office door.

“Ah, Mira.” Celine looked up without a hint of surprise. 

Her parents, on the other hand, had jumped at the sudden slam and protested. “Mira! Have you learned nothing of ma-“

“Yeah, yeah I suck. Got it.” Mira waved them off. “I’m not gonna sit out there while you people negotiate my future. So? Fill me in.”

Celine nodded, though Mira now noticed a layer of tightness in the older woman’s jaw. “We were discussing a possible payment that could be made to the Hongs in exchange for their permission for you to continue your idol training here.”

“Okay. Sounds good.” Mira looked at her parents. “How much you want?”

Her father’s face was firm, but polite. Deceptively kind. She knew that expression very well—he wasn’t her father right now, but rather the businessman. This really was just a negotiation to them.

“Do you realize how damaging it is to your father’s reputation when his daughter runs off without a word?”

“You know I honestly thought you’d be thrilled to find my bed empty. Why are you even here?” She sat back while her parents glanced at each other. Why? Tell me why! For once in your goddamn lives just give me a straight answer!

“To bring you home.”

Liar. I know better.

“That place isn’t home.” Mira hissed. 

Celine sighed. “I’m going to step out and let you three talk.”

The door clicked shut, and the silence spilled into the room. Mira felt like it could drown her, but she wouldn’t let herself crumble in front of them. Not this time.

“This needs to stop.” Her father said. His voice was cold. “This is improper behavior from a lady. Running off? Joining some cult in the mountains-“

“This isn’t a cult, It’s Celine’s house.” She argued. She already felt too exhausted. Her voice was bland and emotionless. She didn’t have the energy to put anything into it. 

“Where she keeps underage girls without their parents knowi-“

“The only reason she didn’t contact you is because I told Celine you two were dead.” Mira blurted out. It was a lie, she’d simply walked around the corner so she could sign the form without anyone seeing. Then she gave it back to Celine, and simply said “All set.”

But at least it pulled the blame back on Mira instead of Celine. Better it be on her.

They recoiled. “How… how could you?” Her mother cried, tears running down her cheeks. Mira refused to let the ice melt. She wasn’t getting burned again. “Because doing this is what I want. And I knew you wouldn’t let me do it if you knew. So I lied to Celine, and said you two died in an accident when I was little.”

“You’re supposed to take over the business. That is your duty, your purpose. After all we’ve done for you. We fed you, clothed you, raised you. And you get into fights. You run away, steal money from your family. We love you, and you do these things…”

A fog settled over her mind. They’re lying. I know they are. I know it. Food and clothes aren’t good enough. You didn’t love me. I never wanted the stupid company. I don’t fight people for fun, I was trying to help. You won’t let me be myself. You don’t love me. You want me to be this perfect daughter. 

That’s not me.

Why couldn’t you just love me?

I shouldn’t have stolen. I shouldn’t have lied. I shouldn’t have fought. 

But it wasn’t wrong to be me. 

And you should have tried to understand that.

Why didn’t you understand that?

Too much to say swirled through her head. Too many words that wouldn’t make sense. Mira thought of Aera, feeling the icy exterior crack. No. You cannot cry right now. Don’t do it. 

“Just… stop it.” Mira said. Her voice sounded like it wasn’t even in the room with them. “I want to say something. And I want to say all of it.”

“Don’t you think you’ve talked back enough?”

“We didn’t raise you to be like this.”

“You didn’t raise me at all.” Mira seethed. “All the best times of my life happened when you two weren’t around. Every good lesson I learned was taught to me by someone else.”

“Why couldn’t you be like your brother?”

Why couldn't you two be like Aera?

She didn’t say it. She couldn’t. That would only put a target on the only positive thing about that house. “I’m my own person. And you two clearly don’t like that person. So why? Why do you keep trying to force me to be something I’m not?”

“We know who you are. And if you’d just look past your outlandish rebellion here you’d see-“

The ice crumbled. She felt it. Fire licking in her mind. Venom on her tongue. 

“This isn’t a fucking rebellion!” 

Her fist radiated with pain as it smashed against Celine’s desk. Her parents flinched.

“This is me. This is me! It’s not a rebellion! This is just who I am! There’s nothing to see past! I am what I am, and you don’t love what I am. You. don’t. love. me.” She growled.

The silence returned. Mira didn’t know what to say. She’d never gotten this far before anger really seized her—punching a desk wasn’t much.

“Can we just cut the crap? Celine’s willing to offer you a lot of money to let me stay. She is willing to pay you to get rid of me. And deep down, that’s what you both want. You want to get rid of who I am.”

“How could you think so horribly of us?”

“Easily. Very, very easily.” Mira sighed. “I don’t have anything else to say. I don’t think we got anywhere.”

She opened the door. “Celine?” She called.

The woman appeared. Mira slumped in her chair, feeling like someone threw a pile of spikes into her chest. She numbly listened to Celine talking, but the words barely fell on her ears. They discussed and discussed and discussed. At some point, they came to a number.

30.000.000 won.

Her parents shook Celine’s hand. Signed the form. She was free from them. All for the price of 30.000.000 won. Money that could be made in a year or two with a decent job. That’s what she was worth. Two years at a decent job. 

Her parents stood up, bowed, and walked out, check in hand. Jiho’s voice came from around the corner “Can I talk to her, before we leave?” 

Someone must have told him yes, because a minute later, Jiho appeared at the end of the hallway. He walked in and shut the door. “So?”

“I’m not your problem anymore.” Mira said. Just leave, already. 

“I know you and Mom never really got along. Dad too.”

“Jiho, if you tell me to knuckle under I will-“

“No… I just…” Jiho waved his hands in surrender before relaxing and sighing. “You could’ve told me you were leaving.”

”You could have called.” Mira muttered. 

“So could you.”

“Why would I have? So I could tell their little snitch everything?”

Jiho’s jaw locked. Just like their dad’s did when he got angry, but he didn’t say anything.

Mira thought back to that moment in the hallway, two boys making fun of her brother. She couldn’t help but snicker at the irony of it all.

“You know why I got into my first fight?”

“What?”

“The first time I ever got into a fight, it was for you. Those two friends you had when we were eight? They were making fun of you when you went back to your locker. So I beat them up for it.” Mira sighed. Saying it now tainted the irony with something too raw for her to hold. “Whatever. Figured you should know.” She shrugged.

Jiho stayed quiet for a while before he finally shifted and opened the door. “Thanks… I guess—for looking out for me.”

Mira glanced up at him. Part of her wanted to know if maybe she and Jiho could fall on better terms, but she knew better. Too much had happened in that house. They were pitted against each other. Forced to be rivals instead of twins. There was too much stuck between them to make up for it now.

“Bye, sis.” Jiho opened the door and walked out. Mira could see the way his steps turned proper, the way his posture straightened. She wondered for a moment if the only difference between her and her brother was that his mask held better. 

She stared at the closed door where they’d been standing, listening to the car engine start up, hearing the crunch of earth beneath the tires. The engine revved as the car took off, the sound weakening and weakening until it was nothing but an echo in Mira’s ears.

“I’ll be in my room.” She finally said.

She should have known they wouldn’t leave her alone. They didn’t even knock. Zoey opened the door and they slid into her room, sliding the door shut. Nobody spoke as Zoey laid down next to Mira. “It’s okay.”

She wasn’t going to cry. She sat up, feeling too pathetic laying down. Rumi sat on the other side of her. “You didn’t leave.” 

“Nope… I didn’t.”

Her breath staggered as she held back a sob. “I hate them.” She whispered. “So much.”

“You never have to talk to them again.”

She nodded. Why am I so angry about this? I wanted this. I wanted them to sell me off, to leave. “Celine paid them off to sign the form. All it took was a pretty enough number for them to walk out of my life.”

Zoey’s arm tightened around her. “I’m sorry, Mir.”

“It’s… it’s fine.” 

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Mira hugged Zoey back. “I’m sorry if I scared you. You too, Rumi.”

“You could never scare me. You act like a lion, but deep down you’re just a cuddlebug.” Zoey cooed. 

“Shut up.” Mira said through a laugh. She shook away the feeling that was gnawing at her and looked at the two who had wrapped their arms around her. 

She wouldn’t cry.

She wouldn’t let herself.

But she would let herself hope. Please, tell me I’m worth something here. Something more than money.

Chapter Text

Mira swung her legs out her bedroom window, careful not to make a sound. She slid off, falling only about a meter or two before hitting the ground. 

The soft thump of her shoes against the dirt proved to be the only consequence as she stood up straighter. With a small smile just for herself, she jogged away from the Sanctuary. 

. . . . . . . . . .

Rumi couldn’t sleep. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as she shifted around. She tried to sleep on her left side, then her right, and then on her back. 

Nothing worked.

She was about to twist onto her stomach, but she gave up on sleep and instead rolled off her bed. She left her room and tentatively walked into the hallway. 

Is anyone else awake or is it just me?

Rumi ‘knocked’ on Zoey’s door, her fingers barely making a sound against it. No answer, though she really couldn’t be surprised about that—even if she had actually knocked, Zoey was probably asleep. 

She slid the door open a crack, and, sure enough, a Zoey-shaped lump was stretched out on her bed. Rumi smiled a little, seeing the steady rise and fall of the younger girl’s breaths. 

She slid the door back shut, careful not to make a sound. “Mira?” She repeated the movements with Mira’s door, sure she’d see Mira’s pink hair splayed out and all would be well.

The bed was a mess, blankets shunted off the side like they were just in the way. One of her dresser drawers was half open. Rumi rushed in, quickly noticing the breeze coming in through the open window.

“Mira!” Rumi hissed into the darkness. Her mind was quickly working overtime, drugged up on restlessness and panic.

Did she leave? Why would she leave? What did… what happened? 

Did I do something? 

Maybe she never believed in the Honmoon. Maybe she was just looking for an out.

She shook her head. Mira never lied. Mira hated lies. If she didn’t believe in the Honmoon, she wouldn’t have gone along with training for three months. That would be crazy. She hated herself for thinking so lowly of her fellow hunter.

But the fear gnawing on her ribs had another mind, and it always thought the worst.

She threw Zoey’s door open in an instant. “Zoey!” She whisper-shouted. Zoey groaned as she rolled over. Rumi grabbed her shoulder and shook her. “Zoey! Zoey! Wake up!”

Zoey stirred, turning and groaning even more. “Rumi? What?”

“Mira’s gone! I don’t know where she went or why or how long she’s been gone, I don’t know if she ran away or—“

“Rumi! Rumi! Chill out, breathe!” Zoey’s grip on her wrists stilled her—barely.

“I don’t know where she went, Zoey!” 

Zoey sighed. “Okay, I’ll call her and see if she answers.” She plucked up her phone and swiped to Mira’s contact. She held the phone to her ear for a second, but then she pulled it away from her ear and set it to speaker instead.

They waited, ring after ring after ring until the voicemail message began to read. Zoey grumbled something under her breath. She looked at Rumi, opened her mouth like she was talking, but Rumi wasn’t paying attention to the world anymore.

She stared at the floor, feeling the Honmoon’s unending hum. Where are you? 

She felt Mira’s presence, but it wasn’t close enough for her to figure out where. She was too far away.  

This is definitely my fault.

“Rumi, it’s gonna be okay.” Zoey’s voice broke through the haze. 

“You don’t know that.” Rumi muttered. “She almost left once, what if she actually did this time? Or what if she got lost, or hurt, or… I don’t know what to do!”

“Okay, we could get Celin-.” 

“No!” Rumi shouted. She threw her hand over her mouth. Damn it, Rumi, be quiet! 

“We can’t tell Celine.” She said, keeping her voice hushed. “What is Mira gets in trouble? Or what if-“

If she hadn’t caught herself, she would have admitted to Zoey how terrified she was of Celine being angry at her for Mira’s departure. Rumi didn’t know why Mira left, but she had a miserable, aching assurance that it was her doing, and Celine would come to the same realization.

Zoey rubbed her shoulder, “Okay, okay. Fine. Celine doesn’t have to know.”

Rumi felt her chest tighten as she looked at Zoey. 

Zoey’s scared for you. Stop being so weak.

Rumi forced her entire body to lock up. Stop moving, stop thinking. For a moment, stop everything. Long enough to stop. Long enough to take a breath. Reset. Like she’d done a thousand times before, she took the lump in her throat and mashed it down into her gut.

No faults.

No fears.

“I’m supposed to protect you two.” Her voice felt fake in her throat. She hoped Zoey didn’t hear it the way she did.

“You don’t have to protect us.” Zoey whispered. “Mira’s a force. She won’t get hurt. And y'know, she probably just went on a walk.”

Zoey nudged scooted back so she sat against the headboard and then patted the mattress next to her. “C’mon, we can sit and wait for Mira to come back, yeah?”

Rumi obliged, and a soft smile jumped onto the smaller girl’s face. Once Rumi was settled, Zoey pulled the blanket over both of them. 

Rumi had never been this close to anyone before. Not since she was little, not that she remembered that anyway. But there must have been a time when she was held, logically speaking. Zoey didn’t force her any closer, and Rumi was grateful that she didn’t. She loved Zoey, but the thought of being so close to her felt like dangling from a branch at the top of a tree. 

They had something special, and Rumi was terrified that if she gave in and clung to them as badly as she wanted to, that she’d shatter everything. Everything would stay intact, as long as she didn’t touch it.

But then, just as she was about to breathe a sigh of relief, Zoey’s head rested on her shoulder. Every terrible thing that could happen bolted through her head, none of which were in the slightest bit coherent nor possible.

But Zoey didn’t shove her away or tell her anything. Rumi felt herself tearing in half. One side of her desperately tried to lean into the affection. The other side wanted to run. Jump up and let her legs do the rest. Running was so easy. So safe.

She tiled her head to lean against Zoey’s, a soft smile daring to cross her face as her mind went everywhere besides a happy place.

. . . . . . . . . .

Mira walked along the road, a chill rising through her limbs. She didn’t need to go far. Hopefully. Just a few miles—that was nothing after the last few months of nonstop training.

She chuckled a little thinking about it, how much everything had changed since coming here. How much she’d gained. What she’d finally escaped.

But it wasn’t all perfect. She wished that all the rage would just leave. It’s not like she wanted to be so negatively charged toward everything. It had gotten better—she was getting better. But, nevertheless, a twinge of that familiar bitterness still threatened to burn. As much as she wanted to stamp out the embers that always set her on edge, she didn’t really think they’d ever be gone. 

Especially when things kept tempting the fire back to life. Like her parents coming. It had only been two weeks since her freedom was signed into existence. 

Well… a sort of freedom. In reality, all she really did was sign herself under someone else’s control. Life would be a dream if liberation got to be more than just a change of ownership, but at least she was happy in this new place. 

And at least it was easy to dip out every now and again. 

The gas station at the base of the mountain was an hour from the Sanctuary. As long as she jogged half the way, that is.

She walked into the shop, and walked right up to the counter, “Hey, Hanjae!” She called out. “Where are you?”

“Oh, great.” His voice, laced with sarcasm, echoed from the back room. “It’s Pinky.” 

“I’ll let that horrible nickname slide if you’ll do me a solid.” Mira said, leaning on the counter.

“Your phone’s still broken?”

“Yeah. Haven’t gotten around to replacing it yet.” She lied. Her mind flicked back to her phone, perfectly repaired, tucked under her pillow. Too risky to use.

The thing was kept under her parents’ control so they could contact her, if they wanted.

Not real freedom by any means.

“I hear ya. Here.” He handed Mira his phone, already ready to be dialed. She quickly jammed the number in and let it ring as she slipped outside, “Not stealing your phone. Promise!” She called over her shoulder as the door shut behind her.

“Mira?”

A smile formed on her lips like an impulse. “Hey, Aera.”

“How’s my superstar?”

“Good. Really good, actually.” Mira bobbed her head as she answered. “Sorry I haven’t called in a while. Just… crazy training schedule, and stuff. My parents were actually here. Celine paid them off for me to stay.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Relatively speaking, it went really well. I got to bitch them out.”

“Oh, Mira-“

“They totally deserved it.” She snickered. “Um, that’s not the reason I really wanted to call though.”

“I really wanted you to know that you were there for me, and you’re the only reason this is happening for me. I’m happy here. Really, really happy. Rumi and Zoey are… I don’t know. They’re like the sisters I never had.”

“I’m so happy it’s working out for you. I knew you’d make it big, and look at you! You’re doing it.”

“It’s because of you. And I don’t know if I’ll be able to call as often, but I just wanted to say I’m never gonna forget everything you’ve done. And I’m still going to send you part of every paycheck… once I actually start making money, that is.” Mira ended with a laugh.

“That was kinda it… I just wanted to hear your voice again, and say thank you again for making my life worth living.”

“When you three debut, you better tell me. I’m going to be there to see it.”

“I will. Promise.” Mira put her hand on the door handle. It was time to go. “Take care of yourself. And if you want to, go right ahead and poison my parents.” 

“Mira-“

“Kidding! Sort of…” Mira murmured. “Okay, I gotta go. Talk later, alligator.”

“Huh?”

Mira realized what she’d said before laughing all over again. “Sorry, Zoey’s really rubbing off on me with the animal stuff. Night, Aera.”

“Goodnight, Mira.”

Mira ended the call, and returned Hanjae’s phone before she left. She started jogging, feeling slightly more satisfied than she’d been a few hours ago.

She made her way back up the mountain, the minutes feeling lighter as they ticked by at a good pace. She found herself slowing to a walk, choosing instead to relish the journey, enjoy the inky blackness with the unrelenting sounds of nocturnal nature. 

By the time she got back to the Sanctuary, she’d started sweating just a little, despite the cold. It would probably start snowing in the next couple weeks. 

Mira climbed back through her window, carefully pulling herself over the windowsill and stepping down on the floor. She winced as the board under her foot creaked. For a moment, she stayed perfectly still, straddling the line between inside and outside, between obedience and disobedience.

Nobody’s awake. It’s all good.

She slid the rest of the way inside and shut her window. She turned to climb into bed, but a silhouette in her doorway made her jump and yelp. She was on the verge of summoning her gok-do when she realized who it was.

“Zoey? Why are you awake? It’s almost three in the morning.”

Zoey looked exhausted, like her eyes would shut and she’d collapse right there. The way the girl leaned against Mira’s doorframe didn’t exactly provide any evidence to the contrary.

“I’m awake because you left.” Zoey said, her voice ever so slightly slurred by exhaustion.

Mira sat down on her bed. “What are you talking about?”

“Rumi freaked out because you were gone. She thought you left. Like, for good.” Zoey sat on the other side, her back to Mira, head turned so Mira could only see the side of her face.

Shit. I didn’t know she’d wake up.

Why do I feel so bad about this? I didn’t actually do anything. I just wanted to talk to Aera. 

I’ll just tell Zoey the truth. She’d understand that.

“I just went for a walk.” Mira said with a shrug. She couldn’t explain Aera to Zoey. It was too hard, too much, and way too raw. 

”For three hours? Plus however long you were gone before Rumi nearly dislocated my shoulder waking me up?”

“Zoey, can you just drop it? It was just a walk, I couldn’t sleep.”

Zoey’s jaw tightened, like she wanted to say something. Mira hoped she wouldn’t. They were both too tired for this.

“Can I sleep in here tonight?”

“Why?”

“Rumi’s asleep in my bed. I don’t want to invade her space while she’s sleeping. And I don’t want to move her, she might wake up.”

“She does need sleep.” Mira admitted. The guilt was eating at her a little more now, but she held her tongue. If she admitted it, she was the problem in yet another house. “Yeah, you can sleep here.”

They slid under the covers, shoulders barely brushing for a moment as Zoey turned on her side to face Mira. For a long while, Zoey watched her in silence. Like she was waiting for something. 

Zoey sighed.

“Look. You don’t have to tell me where you were.” Zoey murmured. “Honestly, I’m too tired to really care all that much. I’m tired of worrying about the both of you. So, whatever, don’t tell me.”

Ow. Zoey’s harsh when she’s tired… 

“But I was worried. You could’ve told us you were going, sent me a text, or just… I don’t know, something.” 

I’m sorry. Mira thought. She should say it. Zoey deserved an apology. So did Rumi, though it’d have to wait.

Just say it. I did something wrong. I made them worry. Say it!

“Okay.” 

It was the best she could do.

Chapter Text

Zoey sat on the porch as the sun set, headphones on her head. A deceptively soft piano played, a simple rhythm that a child could probably learn given enough practice.

It tapered off for a moment, and Zoey felt her nerves tighten in anticipation as a steady duh-duh-duh marched through her ears and into her head.

Look.

Zoey stood up, her blood already pumping.

If you had…

She summon her shin-kal, scanning the arena

One shot.

A few steps off the porch, she chose a tree trunk just twenty feet away.

Or one opportunity

She couldn’t hold herself back, the lyrics just couldn’t sit inside her head.

“To seize everything you ever wanted.”

“One moment.”

“Would you capture it?”

“Or just let it slip?”

And here we go. Zoey thought with a vicious grin.

“His palms are sweaty. Knees weak—arms are heavy.”

She took aim and threw one shin-kal

”There’s vomit on his shirt already—Mom’s spaghetti.”

The shin-kal struck wood and fizzled into shimmers of dust, leaving a gouge in the bark.

”He’s nervous.”

She knew what that was like

”But on the surface he looks calm and ready.”

She’d done that a million times before.

She let the bars slip out like they were second nature as she kept throwing daggers that shattered as though they were never there. But they left their marks on the tree.

As she felt the refrain coming on, training slipped to the backseat. She couldn’t disrespect Eminem so blasphemously. 

“You better lose yourself”

“In the music, the moment, you own it.”

“You better never let it go-go-go!”

“You only get one shot!” She whipped a shin-kal at a small branch.

”Do not miss your chance to blow!”

It slashed through and the branch fell to the ground. 

“This opportunity comes once in a lifetime, yo!” 

ZOEY!

Did someone just say my name?

Zoey pulled her headphones off as she turned, feeling the blood abandon her face as she stared at Rumi and Mira on the porch. 

They definitely saw all of that.

The blood came back, her cheeks burned red. “Hey, guys! Wassup?” She hoped they’d just brush it off, forget they saw—or heard—any of that. 

Though, maybe it was better this way. Best they learned sooner rather that they were way better than her at everything. Mira’s dancing was ethereal. It was like she had perfect control of every single muscle in her body, and knew exactly how to move each one to wrap movement around a song. 

All Zoey could do was bob her head or bounce around like a crazed hiphop wannabe.

And when Rumi sang it was like the world had to stop and listen. Her voice could be deep and powerful, like a gavel striking its authority, or it could be soft and loving. It could be cutesy or downright menacing. 

All Zoey could do was hold a basic pitch. She didn’t have the range, nor the power. None of it. 

“Damn, Zo.”

“Sorry… I didn’t rea-“

“‘Sorry’? Zoey, that was sick.” Mira stepped down and nudged her shoulder, “Never knew you could be such a badass!” She smirked, “The sugar has some spice.”

”Oh, so I’m sugar now?”

”Somethin’ like that.”

Zoey thought for a second. “Did you actually like the rapping?”

”Yeah, dude. You mighta done better than Eminem himself.”

”Don’t disgrace Emi-“ Zoey cut herself off as shock shot through her. “You know who Eminem is?”

“Yeah. Duh. Everyone does.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” Zoey sat down on the porch. “Never knew that.”

“Yeah. But seriously, Zoey, you’re really good at rapping.”

Rumi nodded ecstatically. “Really good, Zo. Have you ever rapped before?”

“I mean, I dunno.” Zoey shrugged. “A little.”

Yes! I do it all the time and I even have my own lyrics!

”I’ve uh, kinda written my own before.”

”Really? That’s so cool, Zoey, you should be our lyricist!” Rumi beamed. “I’ve never really been any good at lyrics.”

”Yeah, Zoey. You’d be good at it. You’ve got a way with words.”

“Whoa, hold on, guys I’m not that good-“ Zoey held her hands up, but they cut her off.

“You totally are!” Rumi argued. “You think so little of yourself Zoey, but you’re awesome.”

Zoey blinked. Me? I mess up all the time. I make dumb mistakes and ramble about random things nobody cares about.

“I haven’t done anything special, I’m just me.” Zoey shrugged, hoping they’d leave it. She wasn’t used to this kind of affirmation.

Nobody had ever really been there to say good things. She figured if nobody was saying good things about her, maybe there just wasn’t much good in her worth talking about.

And besides, everyone was reminding her of all the things she was or wasn’t. She was too bubbly, too “all over the place,” too loud. She wasn’t cool enough, smart enough, or pretty enough. She was too much for most—the kids at school, for her relatives in Korea—but not enough for the rest—Not enough to keep Eomma and Dad together.

“I think you’re special.” Rumi’s voice, soft and hesitant, stopped her thoughts. Zoey felt tears threatening to surge, but she blinked them back. 

“Thanks, you guys.” She said quietly. She smiled again as she felt their closeness. All she wanted was to wrap her arms around them and never let go. Hold them for all eternity.

Be clingy and pathetic and wipe away all tears they could cry. Soak them in enough love and affection that maybe they would actually love her back. 

Maybe she could trust them. Really trust them not to hate her if they knew all of her. Maybe they were the safe people she’d always wanted.

Would they wipe my tears if I cried? Would they hold me the way I’d hold them? Do I care about them more than they care about me?

Can I trust them like I want them to trust me?

She glanced between them as they laughed about something she wasn’t paying any attention to. She felt like she understood them, but they still somehow surprised her in every way. Always treated her better than she thought they would.

Yeah. I can trust them.

She got up and stretched. “I’m so tired.” She yawned. “I’m going to go to bed.”

”Goodnight.”

”Night, Zo.”

She walked inside, the silence in the unlit house practically dripped from the ceiling. It was violated only by the sound of music still blaring through her headphones. She slipped them off her neck and slid the power switch off. The intrusive noise quickly cut off, and the silence reclaimed the space immediately.

She took careful steps along the boards, avoiding the ones she knew would creak underfoot. Another thing that maybe wasn’t necessary, but was nonetheless habit.

She got to her room, only to realize her headphones were still playing music. She slid the power switch off and fell onto her bed. 

The next thing she knew, she was in a dream. A simple dream. A kind dream. It made her feel sweet and sappy as her eyes opened the next morning. But quickly she felt sad as she sat awake in bed. She couldn’t remember it at all. Only the sweetness it had brought her in her sleep.

Chapter Text

Celine wasn’t at the Sanctuary. She wouldn’t be back for two weeks—work trip, something. Rumi barely knew anymore. It didn’t really matter. Whether Celine was here or not changed practically nothing about her routine. 

Or so she thought. Because again, Rumi kept forgetting about the other two, and how they would react to Celine’s absence.

“We should take a night and get the hell out of here, have some fun.” Zoey suggested. She plucked up a piece of chicken with her chopsticks, but they slipped and Zoey grumbled something as grabbed it with her hand and threw it into her mouth. 

“That’s unsanitary.” Mira snickered.

“I am still learning!” Zoey hissed. She struggled to pick up another piece, but quickly growled in frustration and smacked them down. “Gimme a fork, I can’t do this.”

"At least she tried" Mira sighed as she stood up and took a fork from the utensils drawer. She handed it to Zoey with a small smirk “There. I gave you the small one so you maybe you won’t inhale your food.”

“I don’t inhale my food.” Zoey argued. She daintily—and dramatically—poked a single piece of chicken and nudged the fork under a few grains of rice before eating it, her gaze never once breaking from Mira. As she chewed, the act melted away “Wow, Rumi, this is good.” She said between bites. 

Mira nodded before she turned to Rumi. “Zoey is right. We could all use a night off.”

“We really shouldn’t skip training.” Rumi murmured. “Celine wouldn’t like that.”

“There she goes again.” Zoey grumbled jokingly.

“Yeah… Ruru, sweetheart I say ‘we’ but I really mean ‘you.’” Mira pointed her chopsticks at her, and Rumi felt a pang in her chest.

“Sorry. I just… I don’t want to fall behind.” Rumi said. “What if Celine comes back early? What if demons show up and we aren’t good enough to stop them? What if-“ 

“Take a breath, Ru! You’re in a tailspin.” Zoey’s face was playful as she said it, but between blinks and pants Rumi saw her face churn with worry. She dragged her chair to Rumi’s side and took her hands. “Hey, hey, hey. Easy, just breathe a little, one at a time, yeah?”

Rumi tried to listen to Zoey’s voice, but it was like there was a flood in her mind that she couldn’t stop. A flood of all the ways something horrible could happen, and it would be her fault because she agreed to go. Where did this even come from?

It didn’t matter who brought the idea up. She was supposed to be the leader. Every result of their choices was hers to bear. 

“Rumi, breaths. Take breaths. Focus on me.” Zoey’s voice, barely audible, directed the barest sliver of her focus. Zoey took a long breath in, which Rumi tried to copy. It felt like she was dying.

No. Not felt like.

She really was dying.

Her lungs weren't working

Breathe faster! You’re suffocating!

She felt Zoey’s grip on her shaking hands. She forced herself to copy the motion as Zoey slowly released the air instead of wheezing it out and sucking in the entire atmosphere. 

Then Zoey did the same thing again. Again, Rumi tried to copy her.

One breath after another.

“There you go.”

Reality trickled back in. The feeling of the wooden chair, Zoey’s infectious smile chasing away the darkness, at least for now. The smell of the chicken and egg rice in front of her. “I’m okay. Sorry. I just… I get in my head.”

“Okay!” Zoey clapped her hands together impossibly fast, “That settles it. You need a night to be a kid.” 

“But Zo-“ Rumi started.

“Nope!” Zoey shoved her hand over Rumi’s mouth, muffling her protest. “We are fourteen years old—actually, I’m only thirteen—and we have control over a magical demon barrier. I think we’ve earned a night off.” 

Mira smirked, “Understatement of the year.”

“Plus, Mira’s going stir-crazy.” Zoey crossed her eyes and twirled her finger by her ear, “cra-zy” she joked.

“One to talk!” Mira sniped back playfully.

“Oh, oh really?” Zoey jumped up out of her chair, holding up her fists and bouncing back and forth. Rumi wanted to laugh, but that nervous clawing still had her by the throat.

“Oh, you wanna get wild?” Mira mimicked Zoey’s stance, “Okay, I’ll show you wild!”

The two pounced on each other, tumbling to the floor in a mess of giggles before they turned and stared right at Rumi.

Oh no.

“Don’t you dare.” Rumi slid out of her chair and backed up as the other two stood. Their faces dripped with mischief as they leapt over the table at her. She could’ve dodged, and maybe she would’ve. But in that split second, she couldn’t choose the responsible path. And suddenly she was in the floor, the other two holding her down, “And she’s been tackled!” Mira yelled, 

“Yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh.” Zoey chanted in an unnaturally low voice. 

The urge to laugh bubbled up in Rumi’s throat, and before she could get a handle on it, she was practically choking on it. Tears filled her eyes as she fought—rather pathetically—to break free.

“See? There’s our girl. Come on, let’s go out! One night, Ru!” Zoey practically begged, and finally Rumi couldn’t help but yield.

“Okay, okay. One night.”

. . . . . . . . . .

After a long debate, in which Rumi and Mira had to whittle the “one night of freedom” from what Zoey described as “world domination” to heading into the city and, as Mira put it, “finding the sweet spots,” Rumi felt like maybe this wouldn’t blow up in their faces after all.

Rumi grabbed a piece of paper and began jotting down everything they would need. 

• Food 
• Water? 
• Won (How much is enough?)

Rumi had to think about that. She’d never gone to a store before. How much won did all three of them need? She felt embarrassed to ask, but Zoey leaned over her shoulder, and Rumi sighed in defeat. Why did you write it in plain sight?

“That’s actually kind of a good point… How much won do we need? I don’t really know either.” Zoey shrugged.

“Wait, you don’t?” Rumi turned toward Zoey, who just shrugged.

“I grew up in America. Whenever I visited here my eomma always paid. Never really paid a ton of attention to the prices.”

“Right… that also explains why you never waited for Celine to eat first.” Rumi murmured aloud.

Zoey winced. “I’m sorry! I keep forgetting!”

“Don’t worry about it, Zo.” Mira said as she pulled her shoes on. “Also, we should each probably have at least 80.000, so we can splurge.”

“That much?! That’s insane!” Zoey gawked. “In America, you need like 60 bucks! How are we supposed to come up with-“ Zoey stopped for a moment. “It’s like the same amount of money, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah.” Mira said with a muffled snicker. “But that was fun to watch.” 

“Okay, but do we have that much won?” Rumi asked.

“Maybe… I stole a bunch from my parents before I came to Seoul.” Mira said. “I’ll go grab it.”

“Wait, you-“ Rumi started to say, but Mira disappeared down the hallway. She turned toward Zoey. “She stole money from her parents?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her.” Zoey mumbled. “The first thing she did when we met was steal my notebook and yell at me about my drawing of the big tree.”

“You had a drawing of the tree? How? You’d never even been here.” Rumi tilted her head in confusion.

“I guess we never really talked about any of that stuff, huh…” Zoey tapped her chin. “Well, I guess we’ve got our first topic of conversation for our day of freedom!” She said with a laugh. 

Mira appeared around the corner, snickering to herself as she handed each of them seven slips of smooth green bills. “I took more than I thought. This isn’t even all of it… well, it is most of it.” Mira smiled. “I got a little more for the ride to the city, too.”

“Dang, Mir!” Zoey squealed as she skipped toward the door. “well? Let’s go, it’s almost 10!”

“Shouldn’t we go tomorrow? After… oh… I don’t know… sleep?” Rumi asked.

“She’s learning sarcasm.” Mira whispered without really whispering to Zoey, her hand held up beside her mouth for dramatic rather than practical effect.

“I think we’re screwed.” Zoey mimicked Mira’s hand in front of the mouth until they broke into giggles. 

“Are you done yet?” Rumi groaned.

“No, but I am amused.” Zoey smiled, but it quickly fell from her face as her eyes went unnaturally wide. “WAIT!” She screamed it, making every muscle in Rumi’s body tense.

She saw Mira do the same from behind the maknae. “WE SHOULD HAVE A SLEEPOVER!” Zoey proudly declared, not lowering her voice a single decibel. 

Mira dropped her head with a sigh. “Let’s do it, why not?”

Sleepover? Rumi tried to hold her confusion down. Isn’t sleeping over sharing the same building? We’ve been doing that this whole time…

Then she saw Zoey and Mira link hands and both walk into Mira’s bedroom. “Why can’t we do it in my room?”

“Zoey, I love you, but you can’t even see the floor in your room.”

Oh. Sleepover means the same room. Rumi followed along, trying to pretend she wasn’t yet again flabbergasted by something everyone else seemed to know by nature.

As Rumi reached the threshold of the door into Mira’s room, she couldn’t bring herself to cross it. Was she supposed to wait? Get invited? She’d never been in here before, unless it was to do a specific thing or Mira had specifically told her to come in.

Celine never let Rumi walk into her office nor bedroom without explicit permission. It probably works the same here, right?

“Ruru, you coming?” Mira called.

Wrong.

“Yeah.” Rumi stepped into the room, half-expecting a sharp snap of disapproval to ring out from Mira’s fingers. Was this permission to her? 

Zoey was already sitting on Mira’s bed, watching Rumi cross the few meters that separated them with a smile. “I’ve never slept in the same bed as you, Ru.”

I have no idea what that means. “Is that bad?” Rumi asked. 

“No, it’s just… surprising. I mean, we’ve all been living and training together for like half a year now.” She glanced over her shoulder, where Mira was wrestling an extra blanket from under the mattress. “Mira and I share a bed all the time.” 

She leaned back toward Rumi, “Mira secretly loves cuddles”

They’ve shared a bed? Rumi felt a dull stab in her gut. She knew this feeling. She hated knowing that Mira and Zoey were closer to each other than they were to her. But the moment she was conscious of that heavy throb deep inside, Celine’s words echoed in her head.

‘Your faults and fears must never be seen. They can’t know about your patterns, Rumi. You need to draw that line, and hold it.’

Did I cross it? Is this a mistake? Rumi felt a tightening in her calves, like maybe she should bolt. Maybe she needed to. Are the patterns all covered?

When was the last time you checked?

Why don’t you know when that was? Are you trying to screw up?

“Hey! Where’d you go?” Zoey’s hand was waving frantically across Rumi’s vision, and she shook her head.

“What? I’ve been sitting here the whole time.”

“No, not like that.” Zoey sighed, then tapped her finger against Rumi’s temple. “Where’d you go in your head, silly?”

“Oh… I don’t know. Sorry.” Rumi shrugged it off. “I just think a lot.”

Zoey nodded, “I get it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I get stuck in my head a lot, too. There’s a lot bouncing around in this skull.” 

“That’s an understatement.” Mira said through a yawn, falling back on the bed.

Zoey turned and jabbed Mira in her side with her finger, “Take that back!” She said through a giggle. Mira stuck her tongue out in response. Then Zoey turned with the look on her face like she just had the greatest idea in the world.

“Ooh, wait! Rumi’s first sleepover, she should go in the middle!” And without half a second for Rumi to process the words, Zoey tumbled over her, and slid her arms under her before sliding her toward Mira.

She flinched at the touch, but then she was amazed at how easily Zoey, the smallest in the group, had scooped her up. 

They’re getting stronger. She realized.

“I think you broke her, Zo.” Mira’s words trickled into the back of her mind. 

“I am just fine.” Rumi said, “Just thinking”

“You think too much.” Zoey said.

“Hypocrite.” Mira joked through a cough. Zoey shot her a smug look and stuck her tongue out. Mira responded in kind, and Rumi fought the urge to interrupt their banter by laughing.

“Like I said, there’s a lot jumbling around up here.” Zoey waved her hands wildly around her head. “Hey, sit up, Rumes.”

Rumi obeyed. She wanted to ask ‘why do you want me to sit up?’ but she resisted it: There was a different question that tugged at her more.

“Jumbling around? Like what?” Rumi asked. 

“Lots of stuff.” Zoey said. Rumi felt an ever so light tug on the end of her hair, and it took every conscious bit of energy not to jump from the bed.

She realized after a moment that Zoey was only unraveling her braid. 

“Mostly animal facts—especially turtles.” Zoey continued, “Turtles are awesome. I don’t know, what else? I guess I think about my dad back home… well, yknow, in Burbank.” 

“You never really talk about Burbank.” Mira pointed out.

“Not much to talk about I guess. I didn’t really fit there, you know?” Zoey shrugged. “Kids were jerks, divorce, bleh.”

Nobody said anything. Rumi felt like if she stayed quiet, Zoey might keep talking to dodge the silence. And when the girl’s voice picked up again, Rumi let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding

“Nobody really understood me. They thought it was weird how obsessed I am with lyrics and stuff. They thought I was some random foreigner, even though I was literally born there. Like, ‘hey, I’m half and half, guys!’ So much for a ‘melting pot,’ right?” She laughed a little, but it wasn’t her normal laugh. It felt like she was trying to pretend it was funny, but Rumi was fighting every urge to turn and hug her. She still had this feeling that Zoey would keep talking as long as she stayed out of the way.

“My mom’s Korean, so she’d pack me Korean food for lunch, you know? I guess nobody in America likes actual Korean food. They laughed at me for it. I didn’t really care that much, I just put it all into my notebooks and stuff. Yknow, writing lyrics, little drawings. But then sometimes kids would steal my notebooks and do all sorts of stuff with them.”

“What sort of stuff?” Mira asked.

“…Not nice stuff. They’d scribble things out, rip pages out. Once this kid named Franklin lit one on fire… Most of the time they’d just throw them in the creek behind the playground. Then I’d have to go fish them out with a stick, and-“ Zoey stifled, “Yknow… kid stuff.”

And what? What else? Rumi thought. She glanced at Mira, and, somehow, they seemed to share the same thought. “And… what? What else did they do, Zo?” Rumi said, trying to cover the nervousness in her voice. 

She could feel the tension in Zoey’s hands as she kept unraveling the braid—she was at the base of Rumi’s neck, now. “Well, they’d, uh… shove me in… To the creek, I mean.”

“Oh, Zoey…” Mira sighed. “That’s horrible.”

“It’s okay, really. I’m a great swimmer now, so…” Zoey breathed out another half-chuckle, “Yeah, it sucked.”

Mira’s eyes widened a little, “Wait, when I took your notebook-“ She cut herself off, and the same realization dawned on Rumi.

“I’m so sorry, Zo, I had no idea.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Zoey said, but Mira shook her head a little, “No, I was such a bitch to you. You didn’t deserve that.” Mira sat up a little bit more, like she was making sure Zoey heard her.

“Can I ask you something? Since I laid out my bare soul and all.” Zoey snickered, like she’d just made a joke to herself, but her tone regained its rare severity. “Why’d you run away?”

“How did you even know I ran away?”

“You stole money from your parents, and when Celine wanted us to come with, not only were you on board in an instant. I had to beg and convince my eomma for like an hour before she gave in annd signed all the forms. You disappeared for thirty seconds annd came back with them all signed. And… well, with your parents coming here… it was just kinda obvious.”

I didn’t even think about that. Rumi made a note to herself that Zoey was actually a lot more observant than she originally thought. 

Mira stayed quiet for what Rumi counted as twelve seconds, even though it felt more like twelve hours.

“My family and I didn’t really get along. They’re like, rich and proper and that’s just… not me. They never gave me a choice, so I lashed out a lot. Once I got that letter, I just bailed.”

“That must’ve been scary… I couldn’t imagine leaving the sanctuary” Rumi mumbled. She wasn’t sure if she wanted either of them to hear her, but Mira did, “Really? I figured you’d take any shot to get away from Celine for a little while.”

Her nerves went cold. What does that mean? Curiosity conquered her terror—again—and against her better judgement, she forced her voice in a practiced calm, “What do you mean?”

“She’s really hard on you.” Mira pointed it out like it was casual as the weather. “Like… really, really hard on you.” 

“You ever just wanna tell her to screw off?” Zoey chimed in.

“She’d kill me.” Rumi said. Don’t be dramatic. She wouldn’t kill you. 

Would she?

No, no she definitely wouldn’t.

“Okay maybe not kill me… but that would be a mistake.” The last word stuck in her mouth like a thorn she had to spit out.

“But do you ever want to? Like, if you could, would you wanna just say ‘Shut up, Celine!’”

“I know I do.” Mira said with a chuckle. 

Rumi wasn’t really sure. Celine takes care of you. She raised you, trained you. Despite what you are. You shouldn’t even be alive. You owe her everything. How dare you even entertain the thought?

Then why does she make me feel so sad?

Because you’re a mistake.

You’re lucky for what she’s given you. She turned a half-breed monster into a Hunter.

Don’t forget that.

“No.” Rumi said. “She’s hard on me because I have to be strong. She fed me, clothed me, trained me. She’s like a mother to me.”

“So what? That doesn’t mean she gets to be so harsh. You don’t have to be perfect all the time. We’re all just kids, yknow? We’re gonna make mistakes.” Zoey rubbed Rumi’s back. Rumi didn’t know if it was the last few words, or the contact, but Rumi felt herself tense up all over again.

“Mothers are also supposed to love their daughters.” Mira pointed out.

“Celine does love me… I think…” No you don’t. She doesn’t love you. Why would she love you? 

“I’m sure she loves you, in her own way. Maybe she’s just not the kind of person who expresses love openly.” Zoey offered, and Rumi clung to the explanation like a lifeline. 

“But don’t worry, because no matter what, we love you, Rumi.” Zoey wrapped her hands around Rumi’s shoulders, and Mira did the same with a hum of agreement.

No matter what?

. . . . . . . . 

The morning sun sliced through the room, a golden hue scattering about the wooden walls. Rumi felt warm, Zoey and Mira’s arms still coiled around her. 

Part of her thought: Hey, get up! Wake them up too! We need to go!

The other part wanted to stay. To remain in their arms until they woke—whenever that would be.

She found herself snuggling deeper into them, taking in the light, fruit-like smell from Zoey’s perfume, and the coconut, buttery aroma from Mira’s conditioner. She felt Mira shift in the bed, and her arms tightened a little around Rumi’s waist as Mira pulled herself closer. 

Don’t panic. Everything’s fine.

“Morning.” Mira mumbled, as she nestled her chin onto Rumi’s shoulder. “Is the crazy one not awake yet?”

Rumi held back a snicker, settling for a calm breath instead. She looked at Zoey’s face—it was the most peaceful thing Rumi had ever seen. She lifted a hand, and carefully swiped a hair, brushing it behind Zoey’s ear before letting it slide down to Zoey’s chin, “She looks so peaceful.”

“I know. I could cry.” Mira said.

“Why?” Rumi asked.

“Because I have to get up.” Mira responded with a groan as she peeled herself from the bed and walked over to her dresser, pulling off her pajamas and ruffling around in drawers. While she was distracted, Rumi returned her attention to Zoey. Her mind flitted back to their talk last night.

Wordlessly, Rumi made a promise: Nobody’s going to treat you like that ever again. Not on my watch. 

“Hey, Rumi?” Mira whispered.

“Yeah?“ Rumi, with the precision of a surgeon, removed the arm wrapped across her chest, and slid the leg that had ended up tossed across hers off so that she could sit up and, without disturbing Zoey, extract herself from the bed. 

“You don’t have to answer this… but, are you scared of Celine?” Mira’s tone felt unnaturally soft, maybe it was the whisper?

Rumi opened her mouth to answer, but her voice failed her. She gave a slight nod, and bit her tongue to hold back the urge to cry.

But then, the silence felt too severe. She wasn’t always scared. She had to clarify.

“Sometimes.” It was barely even a whisper.

Mira nodded, and then sat on the edge of the bed close enough for their legs to touch. Mira slid her arm across Rumi’s shoulder and held her in a half hug. “I know what that’s like, to be scared like that. I’m not gonna let you be scared alone, okay?”

“I’ll be okay, Mira. I know how to handle Celine.”

“I know you do. But that doesn’t mean you have to handle it alone. We’re here, too. We’re by your side. Like you guys were for me.”

Rumi rested her chin on Mira’s shoulder, “Thank you.“

“Morning…” Zoey’s bed-rough voice drew their attention, and Rumi let a smile crawl back onto her face.

“I’m gonna go make us some breakfast.” 

She pushed herself up from the bed and stepped out of Mira’s room, rounding the corner and entering a room too big and too empty. 

There was a softness in her chest so plush and happy that she couldn’t feel the chronic ache of her lineage. She knew deep down that all the bad would trickle back into her mind. But right now? 

She felt warm and fuzzy. She felt loved. 

Even if they didn’t know all of her, they still could love her, right? She wanted to be the person they loved, after all. Maybe that counted for something. 

Maybe that was enough to make it real.

Chapter Text

The car ride to Seoul was absolutely thrilling. Zoey had made sure her phone was fully charged—she was going to document as much of this as possible. She turned on her camera and started a video: “Alright, Hunters, time to take Seoul by storm!” She said as she nudged Rumi. 

“I just knew you were a camera junkie.” Mira smiled before giving the camera a hand gesture that Rumi didn’t dare to mimic.

“It means ‘fuck you,’ by the way.” Mira explained.

Zoey glanced over, “It’s also America’s favorite hand gesture.” She added. 

“I know what the middle finger is.” Rumi muttered, “I’m not that inept.”

“Can you really blame us for assuming?” Zoey asked.

Rumi opened he mouth like she was going to argue. After a moment she clenched her jaw shut

“No… I guess not.” She muttered in defeat. Her eyes drifted toward the window. “I’ve never been this far away before… It’s…”

Zoey suddenly realized she was still recording. I’ll just… end this… She lowered the phone, but Rumi hadn’t continued after trailing off.

“It’s weird.” Zoey offered. “It’s been our whole lives for half a year…”

“It’s been my whole life…”

Zoey noticed Rumi’s hands in her lap, wringing themselves out like she was desperate to wash the nerves off her hands.

She knew that feeling.

She reached over, and took Rumi’s hand. Rumi looked down, and her eyes traced Zoey’s arm up until their gazes met. 

Zoey could see how scared she was. Unsure of what to do, she smiled and gave Rumi’s hand a light squeeze. A small, unrefined smile flickered on her face before it all but disappeared. The ghost of still clung to her lips as her eyes returned to the floor of the cab.

Zoey rubbed her thumb over the back of Rumi’s hand, and when she saw Rumi’s shoulders release and loosen, she felt like she did the right thing. 

They watched the forest fall away as they came into Seoul. Zoey always loved the way the street wound around, like every corner was an adventure. The chaos of Seoul grabbed her mind and juggled her thoughts so she didn’t have to.

“Here’s good.” Mira told the cab driver. He promptly pulled over, and Mira paid the tab. A minute later, the driver had sped off.

They were here.

Zoey promptly took the lead, practically dragging Rumi through the streets with Mira easily matching the pace. They strolled along the downtown streets, every few steps was another digital sign showing off something else.

”Hey, this is pretty cool.” Mira pointed out a quaint little record shop. Zoey quickly pulled Rumi to its door. A perfect start!

“Our first find!” Zoey squealed. 

The inside was rustic and calm. It was like the building had been here for a millennia and knew it would remain for another. Like its boards had soaked up history, and was completely uninterested in holding it back. Every chip, dent, and carve was a sign of longevity.

An old couple stood at the counter, eyeing them with curiosity. Zoey smiled and waved. “Hi!” She beamed as she walked up to the counter. “Is this your store? It’s so pretty… so soulful.”

”The soul comes from the music.” The lady said. Her lips spread into a warm, grandmotherly smile. One that clearly didn’t care for formalities. Just a love for music.

She’s a total hippie! So cool!

Zoey eyed Rumi as the girl walked along the stacks of records, her finger skimming the air in front of each label. It was like she believed they’d shatter if she actually touched them. 

Mira walked along another aisle, and she stopped at one stack before Zoey’s attention was pulled back. “What brings you three to our store? You’re certainly not our regular crowd.”

”My… friends and I are here on a kind of day off.” Zoey explained. “We were just kind of strolling, yknow? And this place… spoke to us. We’re all musically inclined.”

The woman nodded, and Zoey saw her eyes flick to Rumi, who was now standing next to Mira, staring at the same stack Mira had stopped at earlier. They were talking, but Zoey couldn’t hear what they were saying.

”You three seem like sweet girls. I had a couple girlfriends like that, back in my day. We used to tear up these streets, we did.” She said with a reminiscent expression. “Those were good times.”

”Sounds like it. You’re really nice too.”

”Well, I’m old. What else will I do, be bitter about everything? No fun.” The lady waved her hand, and her husband grunted. That was the first sound he’d made since they walked in.

”Oh, don’t mind him. He’s the kind of grump I resolve not to be.”

”You kids gonna buy something? Or just skulk around a single pile?” He spoke. His voice was scarily gruff, like he grew up breathing in ash. Zoey felt herself shrink. “Sorry… sir.” She murmured. She stiffly walked back over to Mira and Rumi, who were holding a record. Zoey’s heart jumped a little when she read it.

Sunlight Sisters: Greatest Hits

“I found it. There are a couple others.” Mira mumbled. “We could get it. They are like.. our predecessors, after all.” 

Rumi held the vinyl, careful running her fingers along the image of the three women. Celine in the center, and two others standing beside her. On the right, Chae Hayun. And then on the left, Rumi’s gaze locked with Ryu Miyeong. 

Zoey glanced at Mira, who didn’t make any move. It seemed they both agreed they were in unmarked territory.

The look on Rumi’s face was ethereal. It reminded Zoey of some quiet Einstein had given. Something about how he felt like his work was that of a child on the beach, playing with seashells, all the while completely oblivious to the absolute behemoth of an ocean just a few feet away. It looked to Zoey like Rumi was gazing into that ocean, she looked so bewildered.

It was like a silent conversation was happening. All Zoey could do is hope it was a good one. 

They carried the album up to the counter, the lady smiled at Rumi like she somehow knew how special it was. 

“They were something else… the Sunlight Sisters. When I heard of y-“ She coughed. “Of Miyeong’s passing… oh… I was heartbroken. Such passionate young women… they didn’t deserve to lose one of their own.”

After handing of twenty-thousand won, the album was theirs. They thanked the lady and left, Rumi clutching the bag tightly, like it was something truly sacred.

Their stomachs growled. “Let’s find something to eat.”

And so, the wandering began again. They moseyed into shops, looked around, and left without buying anything else. But after a while, hunger genuinely forced them to skip the shops and just find food. 

Finally, they stumbled across a kimbap vendor that they all agreed looked rather appetizing. While Mira and Zoey quickly blew four thousand won, Rumi nervously looked at the little handwritten menu.

“Tell me you’ve eaten kimbap.” Mira prayed aloud. “If Celine didn’t feed you kimbap-“

“No, no, I’ve had it.” Rumi replied quickly, “I just… I can’t choose.”

“I bet the tuna’s good.” Mira mused.

Rumi shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not.”

Whoa.

“I’m never eating a fish.” She seethed between her teeth. “Disgusting.” 

Zoey had never heard Rumi sound so harsh about anything.

So… she hates seafood. Good to know.

She pulled out her notebook, and flipped through it until she got to Rumi’s section. and scribbled underneath the Dislikes section

- Seafood (especially fish)

She shut the notebook and shoved it back into her bag, and by the time she zipped it back up, Rumi had finally settled on a plain vegetable one.

Zoey had never thought about it, but Rumi did always have an aversion to anything aquatic. Zoey was willing to bet that the hanok never once had any kind of seafood in it. Not while Rumi lived there.

That assumption was reinforced in her mind when she saw Rumi fully and openly glare at a person who walked up and ordered the tuna.

Okay… so she really doesn’t like seafood.

They found a nearby bench and devoured the rolls like they hadn’t eaten in years. In between bites they stole glances at the city surrounding them. “What else is there to do?”

“So much I have no idea where to go next.” Zoey murmured. “We could go shopping, or we could just walk around? Who knows. Maybe find another little store? What do you guys think?” Zoey glanced at Mira and Rumi.

Mira dragged her fingers along the bench, her mouth moving over mostly silent syllables, but every now and again Zoey would catch “We could…” and “or maybe…”

But as she looked at Rumi, Zoey noticed that she was just staring off into the distance, obviously not listening to anything they were saying. The bag from the record store hung from her fingers like an afterthought.

Zoey shot a glance to Mira, gesturing toward Rumi with her eyes. Mira responded with a sigh, and then flicked Rumi on the side of her head.

“Wakey wakey!” She yelled, and Rumi jolted, turning to look with a very confused expression at Mira.

“Don’t do that. Something’s wrong.” Her voice was deadly serious and quiet, the way it was when she was too into training. Zoey’s heart picked up a faster beat, deep unease triggered by Rumi’s tenseness.

Then they all felt it. Zoey’s stomach twisted violently as ice filled her blood. A cold, dark ripple swept all the warmth from her body.

None of them had to say it. Zoey had never felt this before, but the thought was absolute in her mind. 

The Honmoon just tore.

They were moving in seconds, with Rumi leading the way—her connection to the Honmoon was still much stronger than Zoey’s or Mira’s.

Sure, they’d all felt it, but Rumi could sense it. While they didn’t know which way to turn to hunt down the rupture, Rumi zeroed in on it without so much as a single misstep or turnaround.

They were lucky, it was in an alleyway of an alleyway. Somewhere secluded were onlookers definitely wouldn’t stroll. Zoey took the record bag from Rumi and tucked it around the corner, hoping it wouldn’t somehow get damaged. 

Of course demons would come here. Zoey thought as she rejoined the others. In an instant, all three had summoned their weapons.

Six monsters. Six sinful, toothy smiles crawled forth from the small tear in the Honmoon. Six sets of limbs clambering toward them with empty violence in their eyes.

Deep purple lines etched across them. Jagged bolts of evil. Rumi’s words echoed in her head. ‘Don’t doubt yourself. If you see those patterns, it’s a demon, and demons have to die.’

“Time to get wild.” Mira said. Zoey smiled. Mira always says that.

“That’s going in one of our songs someday.” Zoey replied as she threw one of her Shin-kals.

And just like that, the battle was on.

The thrown knife pierced one demon in the eye, and as it began to let out a warbled scream.

Rumi drew her sword along its torso, and it exploded into a red mist. Two of the remaining five lunged for Rumi, but she kicked off one and used it to give herself room.

Mira now charged, swinging her gok-do like it was just an extension of her atom. She slashed one demon in two, and when the other slammed the blade of her gok-do into the ground, Mira leapt and did a spin kick directly into the demon’s throat, second it sprawling before she summoned the weapon back into her hand and lunged again.

Zoey thought her heart skipped six beats when she watched that. But her focus on her teammates was diverted as two of the three demons lunged for her.

She threw two shin-kal, which slashed through the demon on the right, but the leftmost one caught her arm, sharp claws threatening to slash through her skin if they were given so much as a hint of a chance.

She managed to wrench it free, a couple scratched forming across her forearm. She barely even noticed the pain. She launched herself over the demon, grabbed its shoulder and pulled herself into its back. 

Red mist in her peripheral told her that the fifth demon had been killed.

You’re the last. She thought.

She summoned one more shin-kal. That was all she needed. One more to finish it.

The demon tried to buck her off, but she drove the little knife down behind the collarbone.

The demon screamed. She pulled it out and drive it back down again and again until the red mist clouded her vision, and she hit the concrete with an umph.

She smiled, but a terrified look in Rumi’s eyes, along with the feeling of impending doom behind her made Zoey’s entire body tense.

MOVE!

She tumbled to the side, but something in her was screaming that it wasn’t enough. She only saw a flurry of movement. Rumi was gone.

No, not gone.

Once Zoey sprang fully out of the way and leapt to her feet, and she saw Rumi’s saingeom holding back a thick club, wielded by a demon four times her size—way bigger than all the others they’d just killed.

Its roar rattled the ground—and Zoey’s nerves—like a maraca. It rose its fist.

No.

Rumi has to get out. Now. 

As she saw the demon begin to bring down its fist, she ran and leapt, three shin-kals in both hands.

She threw them so that four of them struck the demon’s face, and then the last two she drove into the demon’s wrist, holding on for dear life as the monster jerked from the pain. 

Zoey could feel that Rumi had moved, her presence somewhere behind. She kicked away, and then summoned another set of shin-kala.

“What do we do?”

“Keep throwing your shin-kal while Mira and I keep its attention.” Rumi said quickly. “He’s strong, but slow. We’re faster.”  And then Mira and Rumi charged forward, leaping in and out of the way of blows while Zoey aimed. Her stomach knotted. 

What if I miss? 

What if I hit one of them? 

She shook her head. No. I can’t be a coward. Not now. 

I’m a hunter, faults and fears never seen, right? 

Zoey threw her shin-kals and the beast roared as they pierced him. His beady eyes narrowed onto Zoey, sending a violent shudder down her spine. Rings of amber, and where the ‘windows to the soul’ was supposed to be, there were only black holes. He charged forward.

It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine-

“Whoopsie! My bad!” Zoey quipped as she drew another set and sent them flying again. The joke had helped her nerves, at least a little. She dashed to the side, but it turned out she didn’t need to.

As her thrown shin-kal found their target—all six into the left leg—the demon stumbled. Rumi quickly complemented the onslaught by drawing a deep slash across the same leg. 

Mira had already landed a number of nasty wounds on the beast’s stomach and hip, where her gok-do could reach much higher than Rumi’s saingeom.

Rumi must have seen the opening before Zoey did, because in an instant she launched herself off the demon’s bent knee, landed and kicked off its forearm, and then buried her sword in its neck before she dragged it through, and—finally—its body dissipated.

As the three met each other’s gazes, Zoey couldn’t help but smile. “We did it!” She yelled. Rumi and Mira quickly responded with smiles of their own, before Zoey leaned against the wall. “Holy moly… My heart thinks we’re still fighting.” She wheezed.

“So do my lungs… That was… just… wow.” Mira fell back against an empty spot next to Zoey, with Rumi doing the same beside Mira. “You guys...” Rumi said. “That was our first fight…” She leaned forward, and Zoey’s eyes found hers, “Thanks for the save, Zo. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, all good.” Zoey tried not to make it obvious how giddy she felt at Rumi thanking her, knowing that she’d not only done a good thing, but Rumi—not just anyone, but Rumi—had noticed and thanked her.

“You saved me first, I owed ya.” Zoey said with a laugh.

She felt like she had finally escaped herself. She wasn’t the Korean dork from Burbank. No longer the little freak who couldn’t stop fussing over lyrics and rhythms in old notebooks while bopping her head to songs sung only on the other side of the world. 

She wasn’t the girl who learned to swim just so that a notebook retrieval couldn’t become more humiliating by her drowning. Or too much of one culture to be tolerable to the other. 

She was just Zoey. One of three hunters. 

She belonged here. This was where she was meant to be. The Honmoon had called her, and she wouldn’t rather be anywhere else than in this alleyway, finally feeling like she hadn’t failed.

Mira broke through Zoey’s thoughts as she burst out laughing. “Dude… you said ‘Whoopsie, my bad!’” Zoey heard Rumi huff out a weak chuckle.

Zoey shrugged. Ah, Peter Parker, you’ve taught me well.

“That’s what your friendly neighborhood Spiderman would have done.” Zoey chuckled.

“Who?” Rumi and Mira asked in unison.

“It’s an American thing.” Zoey explained. “But at least I have some more movies to add to our to-watch list!” Yet again found herself pulling out her notebook. She jotted down Spiderman stuff! on the page she’d dedicated to all the movies she wanted to show Rumi and Mira. 

“Ooh, I forgot about How to Train Your Dragon! That’s an awesome movie!” Zoey scribbled that one down too.

“How come you always write stuff down in notebooks?” Rumi asked.

“Just helps me clear my head, organize my thoughts.” Zoey shrugged.

“I guess that makes sense.” Rumi nodded. 

“Wait, I have an idea.” Mira smirked as she yanked out her phone. “Let’s go to the arcade!”

“Of course! Why didn’t I think of that!” Zoey jumped up, “Rumi, you’ll LOVE the arcade! It’s nothing but games and music and junk food!” 

Zoey grabbed Rumi’s and Mira’s hands and dragged them out of the alleyway, swiping up the record on the way. They found a taxi and flagged him down. 

“Where’s the nearest arcade?”

And off they went. They spent the entire rest of the day playing basketball, Tekken, and, most of all: Pump it Up. 

Watching Mira and Rumi absolutely demolish the dances made her feel fuzzy and warm in a way that she couldn’t fully grasp. At some point, Rumi got obsessed with the basketball game. and when they found a punching bag, Mira actually broke it while competing with some random boy their age. 

Needless to say, Mira won.

Zoey found herself perfectly content in watching them. Seeing Rumi with a childish smile on her face, running around like the rules didn’t exist made Zoey’s heart tighten in the best way. And with Mira right alongside her, pulling Rumi around, never giving her the chance to overthink, Zoey was watching paradise unfold right in front of her.

And then they’d turn toward her, and her heart could have stopped. She could have died the happiest person alive right then. 

She’d found her sisters, and they were thriving. The love she had for them, even from the moment she’d met them, threatened to drown her sometimes. 

After a few hours of running around the arcade, the sun was beginning to set in Seoul, but Mira insisted that they just had to wait until nightfall.

And, oh boy, was Mira right. Apparently, Seoul and Zoey had one big thing in common:

Neither one seemed to sleep.

Bright neon lights emanated from billboards, casting a colorful hue over the city. Musicians busking the streets, tempting Zoey to jump in and start rapping to the beat.

The street lamps, the cars moving like eyes zipping up and down the road. The soul of Seoul was illuminated in the night, and Zoey was living for every second of it.

Rumi, however, was visibly sleepwalking. So, finally, they gave into exhaustion and flagged down a cab to take them back to the Sanctuary. 

The moment they got into the cab, and gave the address, Rumi’s head slumped onto Zoey’s shoulder, and Mira draped her arm around the both of them. 

“Today was amazing.” Mira yawned. “Rumi had a blast.”

Zoey laid her arm over Mira’s and rubbed Rumi’s head. “She’s like a kitten.” Zoey cooed. “And you’re like a tiger.” Zoe playfully nudged Mira’s shoulder with the tips of her fingers. “But you’re way more cuddly.”

Mira hummed wordlessly. Zoey looked over and saw that she was barely more awake than Rumi, managing only to keep her eyes open. “So silly…” Zoey smiled.

Then Zoey heard a whimper coming from Rumi. She nudged the girl a little, “Rumi?”

Mira’s eyes were wide open now, “What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know, she just whimpered.” Zoey whispered. “Maybe just dreaming?”

Another whimper, but then words, mangled into gibberish by sleep, trickled out. The voice barely even sounded like Rumi’s, small and fearful as it trailed out at the end of panicked breaths. 

“Ruru?” Mira shot a glance toward Zoey, “Should we wake her up?”

“I don’t know…” Zoey said, “Maybe we sh-“

All of sudden, Rumi’s body jerked violently, “NO!” She screamed, and for just a moment she summoned her saingeom. Mira and Zoey quickly tore it from her hands and shoved it to the car floor before the driver could identify the sudden flash of light. 

“Hey! What the hell-“ He yelled.

“Sorry! My phone got flipped around while I had the flashlight on!” Zoey made up the lie on the spot, and Rumi let the saingeom melt back into the Honmoon. “Won’t happen again, sir!”

He muttered something about ‘stupid kids’ and kept driving.

“Hey.” Zoey breathed softly, “What happened?”

“I’m sorry… I just had a bad dream.” Rumi wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m okay. I’m fine.” Zoey pushed Rumi’s head back onto her shoulder while Mira rubbed her thigh reassuringly. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re not gonna let anything happen to you.”

“I’m okay, I promise.” Rumi smiled, but it felt hollow. “Really. It was just a bad dream.” 

Zoey nodded, but before she could decide what to make of any of this, Rumi slipped her fingers between Zoey’s. 

“I never asked if you were okay after the fight. Are you?”

“You did ask me, silly.” Zoey smiled. “I’m still okay. We’re all A-OK.”

Rumi sighed deeply. “Right… Yeah… Everyone’s okay.” She breathed the words out like she was trying to convince herself they were true. 

She nodded again, calmer now. “Yeah. It was just a bad dream.”

Chapter Text

One detail the girls hadn’t considered when they ran off into Seoul was that everyone knew who she—Ryu Rumi—was. Everyone knew the purple-haired child of Sunlight Sister Ryu Mi-Yeoung. 

Which meant that everyone who saw Rumi running around Seoul with two girls—Zoey and Mira—also took pictures of Rumi with Zoey and Mira. 

And everyone who took pictures did what people do, and posted them. 

Which meant Celine saw them.

And Celine was not happy.

“Do you even realize how reckless-“ Celine pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes shut tight. “How… how stupid!”

Rumi flinched under the words. She wasn’t looking forward to the next-

“Just… go outside! Now!” Celine snapped, turning and storming out of her office. The slam of the door send another jolt down her spine.

-training… session…

This isn’t going to be good.

Rumi staggered out of Celine’s office, and she looked at the door, her skin already tensing in anticipation. She shakily grabbed her wooden sword on reflex.

In the past, when Celine got frustrated with her, it usually lead to training until whatever she’d messed up was corrected. Now she held the sword, unsure of what would happen.

There was no correcting the error this time. But, perhaps for the comfort of something in her grasp, she chose to keep it. Her eyes flicked over to Zoey and Mira, who guiltily met her gaze.

“We’re so sorry.” Zoey whimpered. “Rumi, please don’t go out there.”

“If you go, we’re coming.” Mira said. She was already standing up, but Rumi held out her hand, forcing a smile on her face. “No.”

They can’t see this. They won’t.

“Rumi-“

“I’ll be okay. Just, wait here. I don’t want her to think you guys should get punished. Just let me handle it.” She adjusted the grip on her sword and took a deep breath. “I’ll be back in soon.”

She reached for the door, trying to pretend her fingers weren’t wrought with trembles.

She slid it halfway open, resisting the urge to turn back toward them. If she looked at them again, she knew she would break down into tears.

That would only make it worse. So, against her every desire, she stepped outside and slid the door shut behind her. A soft breeze flowed lazily over her. For a day in February, it was quite warm. The earliest buds of spring were daring to show, little buds on trees.

It was a lovely day. 

Rumi didn’t know what to expect, whether she’d get the beating of a lifetime or, hell, maybe Celine would finally just give up on her. Maybe she’d get thrown out. Whatever. She deserved whatever came.

Just do it. Rumi thought. Scream. Hit me. I deserve it, Just do it already! Please, I can’t take the silence!

“Just—Just follow me.” Celine said. Her voice was empty, like she didn’t have the energy for a tone. They walked the path, and Rumi knew where they were going in an instant: her mother’s grave. 

Celine knelt in front of the grave, running her fingers along the stone. “I made a promise…” She murmured. “but I don’t even know what to do with you right now.”

It felt like a dagger digging into her ear. 

“What would she say?” Celine gestured to the headstone before them. “This is a mess. What were you thinking?”

I don’t know.

I- I wasn’t…

Why weren’t you thinking?

“You’re supposed to be a leader. Supposed to be a hunter. And then you do this. Why? Why would you-“

Every word was a stab in her chest. But Rumi knew that if she cried it would only worsen the degree of her screwup. So, she shoved each and every word, every stab, deeper and deeper until it was hidden in the knot that lived eternally in her stomach. 

“I have never been so ashamed, Rumi. I though you were smarter than this.”

All the times Celine had shaken her head in disappointment. All the times her gaze stuck on Rumi like she was a piece of gum under the table. 

All the times she’d failed, and this was the worst. She’d never been worse in Celine’s eyes than she was right then. She was ruining everything all over again.

Had she ever done anything pride worthy? Had she ever been good under the gaze of the woman who raised her? 

It’s the patterns.

It’s always the patterns

I’m not good enough.

“I was just-“

“Do not make excuses!” Celine’s head jerked toward her. Rumi looked at her eyes for only a second before the anger and hurt in them drove her gaze back to the ground—where it belonged.

”Those two are supposed to be able to look up to you. I know they don’t do anything without your say-so.”

Rumi cowered. Celine was right. They wouldn’t have gone if she had simply put her foot down. But then she agreed.

Spineless. You’re supposed to be a leader, not a failure!

This is all you fault. If you’d just put your foot down.

”You put yourself and them in danger. You risked Mira’s and Zoey’s lives, Rumi! They could have been killed!”

Killed? The word stuck in her ears and rattled her nerves. The thought of Zoey and Mira—no. She couldn’t handle it.

Don’t go there. They’re okay-

You risked their lives.

They could have died.

It was almost all your fault.

I’m so sorry-

Celine scoffed, her tone thick with spite. “God… Your mother was reckless sometimes… but this? She would be so disappointed.”

“Even your father might be disappointed.” She seethed under her breath. It clearly wasn’t meant to be heard

But Rumi heard it anyway. It ran through her head like a mantra now. 

“I’m sorry.” was all Rumi could manage. Celine never spoke about her father. Never even mentioned him. 

But she said it. She meant it.

You’re a mistake. A monster so evil even demons are horrified. 

Even your dad would be disappointed.

Even a demon thinks you’re vile

You are vile.

You don’t just have faults. You are the fault. You’re the error in the world. The Honmoon should have chosen anyone else. 

You deserve pain.

you deserve suffering.

you deserve death.

. . . . . . . . . . 

The silence in the hanok hung like an executioner’s axe. It took all of Zoey’s strength to say anything.

“We shouldn’t have let her go.” Her voice felt weak off her tongue, the words almost unwilling to exist in the room. 

“She didn’t want us to stop her.”

Zoey opened her mouth, but now the words refused completely to be sounded.

What if she did?

She skidded her chair closer to Mira’s, laying her head against Mira’s shoulder. The contact was supposed to help ease the anxiety. 

This was all your idea.

You wanted a night out.

Did you really think nobody would recognize Ryu Rumi? 

How stupid-

“Hey.” Mira’s voice sliced through the words that ran around her head. Stop overthinking, Zoey.”

”This was all my idea.” She mumbled. “And now Rumi’s in trouble. I just…” She trailed off. There was too much.

She didn’t know what Rumi was going through.

If Rumi walked back inside, would she be angry? Sad? Cold? Zoey had no idea. And not knowing was insufferable. 

Mira was no better off. She had been the one to suggest Seoul. Zoey’s idea for a night off could have been anything, from a walk around the mountain to a movie in a dark theater, where nobody recognized anybody. 

Of course I just had to suggest a whole day trip. 

She reached for Zoey’s hand and squeezed it. She craved for something to reveal the right thing to do. Some action she could take, or words she could say to fix everything.

Something that could take Rumi’s pain and bury it somewhere the girl couldn’t find it. Or take Zoey’s guilt and banish it beneath the demon realm. 

But Rumi told them not to go.

So, they couldn’t.

No matter how badly they wanted to. 

The last time they did what Rumi told them not to… it… well, lead to this. So… maybe this would be okay. Maybe Celine wouldn’t be so hard on her.

She wanted to kick herself for thinking so naively. 

Stupid. I’m actually stupid. Why didn’t I drag her back to her room and hold her there? Why did I let her go?

What if she really did want us to stop her?

Chapter Text

Rumi wasn’t the same when she walked back into the hanok. She was silent, like a feral cat trying to make everyone forget she was there. She made dinner for them, but the moment the bowls were set on the table, she bolted to her room. 

Celine didn’t eat either. She walked in, shaking her head, and the slam of her office door left Mira in the darkness.

She was tempted to bang down Celine’s door and demand every answer in the universe. But that wouldn’t do enough. Rumi was the one who needed interference. 

Right. Focus on Rumi. Help her. That’ll make it better.

But Rumi didn’t even respond when Zoey knocked. No “go away” or “I want to be alone.” Just… silence. So much silence.

Mira’s mind went to the worst places. What did Celine do to her? She tried the door, but it was latched. She had half a mind to rip it open, but Zoey’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. “We’ll… give her some time. C’mon.” 

Mira followed Zoey into the bedroom. She didn’t know what else to do. The outside world barely existed; she was stuck in her head trying to come up with any action that could work. In reality, literally all of her ideas about what to do here were either really unhelpful or really illegal.

Mira blinked, realizing that they were sitting on Zoey’s bed. 

“What the hell happened out there? What did Celine do?” Mira muttered.

“Mira-“

“No. Seriously. What did she do? Did she hit her? If she fucking hit her I’ll-“

“Mira! Stop!” Zoey tugged Mira’s arm, and guilt finally reigned over rage. 

“Well what am I supposed to do, Zoey?”

“We have to wait. It’s not like we can just break into her room.”

“Actually, we ca-“ Mira started to say. 

“Just-” Zoey said sharply as she held her hand up. “Sure. We could. But it wouldn’t help her. You’re not the only one who’s worried.” 

Mira glanced down at the floor. Her head felt too heavy. She’s right. What am I doing? Damn it, this isn’t helping anyone. 

“I’m sorry, Zo.” Mira laid her arm across Zoey’s shoulders, and Zoey curled into her. “You’re right. We have to wait.”

They sat in silence for a couple minutes. Mira tried to shove down the fire that grew hotter and hotter by the minute. She held onto Zoey so that maybe she was helping someone. Maybe making all of… this… more bearable for one of them.

But still, every moment that door stayed locked was another moment where nothing could be done for Rumi. Nothing. 

She was mad. She was still so, so mad. She tightened her hold on Zoey, just enough to hold onto sanity.

Zoey spoke again.

“Mira?”

“Yeah?”

“Is this my fault?”

It was like a bucket of water was dumped on the fire. The anger fell away from her chest. I can’t let her think that. 

She turned Zoey so she could look the younger girl dead in the eyes. “Zoey—God… No. This is not your fault!” She gently shook Zoey a little. “You gotta hear me on this.”

“But going out was my idea.”

“It doesn’t matter. I was going to suggest it if you didn’t. This is not on you.”

“But… what if Rumi’s mad at me? What if she thinks it’s my fault?”

“She doesn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that when we were in Seoul, Rumi was thrilled. She was having fun. We were having fun. It was one of the best days of my life. And I’m damn well willing to bet it was one of the best of hers, too.”

She hugged Zoey again, laying back on her bed and wrapping her arms around the smaller girl. “I know she’s not mad at us. I promise.”

She probably wouldn’t even let herself get mad at us… Would she?

Yeah, No. She definitely wouldn’t. That’s not Rumi.

Zoey wrapped her arms back around Mira, the warmth made Mira feel sickeningly comfortable. She hated herself for it, while Rumi was across the hall, trapped in whatever mindset Celine had inflicted on her. 

I hate Celine. I hate her. I hate her!

Stop that. That’s not helpful.

I. Don’t. Care.

Focus on Rumi.

She doesn’t need me to be angry.

Mira leaned into Zoey a little more, going her presence could chase away the anger that just wouldn’t stop boiling. To her surprise, it actually worked. Before long, the depths of sleep took her away.

. . . . . . . . . . 

When she woke, it was three hours later, and Zoey was still wrapped around her. “Zo.” Mira murmured. “Zo?”

Zoey mumbled an incomprehensible mess of syllables, so Mira went about extracting herself from the girl’s embrace. “I’m going to check on Rumi.” She gently slid off her bed, hearing Zoey roll over. “You are?” The younger girl asked.

“Yeah.”

Mira walked across the hallway and stood in front of Rumi’s door. Ever so softly, she tapped her knuckles against the wood. “Hey, Rumi? It’s me.”

Still silent. She tried to open the door.

To her shock, the door was unlatched this time, and it slid open a crack before Mira stopped. She frantically waved Zoey over, and the girl practically sprang off her bed to get there. 

Mira slid the door open further and peeked through a slit only a few centimeters wide. Rumi’s hair was unbraided, the mess of it lying across her pillow. Her back was to them, all Mira could see was that her knees were curled up to her chest and that her hands were latched onto her shoulders.

She looked broken. 

Mira swallowed her rage toward Celine, trying every meditative thing she’d ever learned to keep from choking on it. She wanted to strangle the witch who had reduced the girl they were finally meeting to this. 

“Hey, we’re coming in.” Mira whispered tentatively. She crept in, Zoey half a step behind her. Mira sat on the bed behind Rumi, her heart aching as she saw Rumi’s shoulders tense. She carefully laid her hand on Rumi’s shoulder, slowly rubbing her arm. 

Rumi crumbled under the touch, her body shuddering as sobs tore through her. Zoey leapt onto the bed, caution gone to the wind as she wrapped herself around Rumi. 

“Rumi, look at us… please.” Zoey whimpered. She took Rumi’s hands and guided the girl into a sitting position. Rumi wouldn’t meet their gazes. Mira traced her eyes to find Rumi’s focus captured by a stray fiber that stuck up from the mattress. Mira grabbed it and tugged it out.

 “This wasn’t your fault.” She said sternly. “Zoey and I came up with the idea. We were stir crazy, and we pushed you. We shouldn’t have made you do that.”

Rumi finally looked up, but the relief that Mira expected to feel never came. Because even though their eyes met, it was like Rumi wasn’t really looking at them. 

Instead, she shook her head, wiped her tears with a violence that left her eyes even redder than they’d been before. “I’m sorry.” She said, her voice weak. “You don’t have to worry. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

She wasn’t crying anymore, but Mira knew the look of a mask when she saw one. The lie. She knew it, and right now that cruel joke of a smile was a knife twisting into her gut, shredding each organ with a morbid and careful precision. 

Don’t fucking smile right now, Rumi! I know it’s not fine!

“You’re not okay, Rumi!” Mira couldn’t help the raise in her voice. Stop pretending! Stop lying! I can fucking see, I have eyes!

The smile faltered, and Rumi shook her head again. “Celine was right. I was irresponsible. Even if it was your idea, I should have known people would recognize me. I should have been smarter. I should have been better. You guys could have gotten hurt!”

There it was again. Rumi said the words, but it was Celine talking. Mira felt her fingers curl into a ball, but there was no power in her fists here. 

At least back home she could punch the bully, or rescue the little twerp getting bullied. She could smash an expensive vase or rip an embroidery, and one or more of those things would put her adversaries in their place. 

But this wasn’t about throwing punches, or winning arguments. Celine lived in Rumi’s head, and even though Mira knew Celine was wrong, she couldn’t win against the hunter who knew so much more than her.

Stop. Please… I can’t be mad right now. That’s only gonna make it worse. It’s not going to help. It’s not.

“Rumi?” Mira reached out, Rumi flinched—almost imperceptibly—at the sight of her hand. Swallowing the spike in her already insurmountable rage at everyone outside of this room, Mira softly rested her fingers on Rumi’s cheek. “Just because Celine says it doesn’t automatically make it true, or right.”

If Mira’s words mattered at all, Rumi didn’t let on to it. She kept scanning her face for anything; a twitch, a shift in her gaze, anything to indicate that she heard them. But when she looked at Mira, her eyes were void of everything except exhaustion. Like she’d been fighting in a warzone for years. 

Maybe that’s exactly how it was. Rumi’s head probably was a warzone. And Mira didn’t even know where to begin to stop a war she couldn’t see. 

She remembered, months ago, thinking that she could never understand Rumi. Never understand the kind of weight on her shoulders. Is this what that weight does to someone?

Zoey was still holding Rumi’s hands, but she shuffled to sit beside Rumi, slipping her arm around the girl’s shoulders and pulling her tight. “Mira’s right. Just because Celine says stuff about you, it doesn’t mean it’s true.” Zoey glanced at Mira. “Celine once told me Mira was like a rabid dog.”

She did? Mira felt that familiar feeling of rejection that always made her nerves burn, but she realized half a moment later: Celine would absolutely say that about me…

Rumi snapped back into existence, her eyes wide with remorse.

“You’re not a rabid dog! You’re kind, and you’re always looking out for us.” She insisted. 

Zoey nodded emphatically. “That’s what I thought too. See, Rumi? Celine said that about Mira, but you and I both know Mira enough to know that Celine’s wrong. The same goes for you.”

Rumi sighed in what Mira could only guess was defeat. “I guess so…”

“What did she say to you? What happened out there?”

Rumi’s breath caught, and she opened her mouth, but no noise came out. She shook her head, closing her jaw tightly. She tucked her head into her knees, holding her hands on the back of her head. She inhaled sharply, a harsh and shaky wheeze that rang in Mira’s ears. 

“I can’t.” The words were so blended into her breath that if it weren’t for the crack in her pitch they wouldn’t have even heard it.

Mira clenched her fists again.

I can’t.

I can’t do this.

Celine…

She glanced at Zoey, and before she could say anything, or consciously give any indication to what she was about to do, the younger girl shook her head fervently.

Mira, don’t. She mouthed.

But Mira didn’t listen. She jumped off of Rumi’s bed and stormed down the hallway without a thought. Nothing in her head except the fire that had been scorching her insides for hours.

“Mira!” Zoey yelped.

The embers weren’t going out.

The fire was raging.

An inferno. Hot. Too hot

Bones were melting.

Blood sizzling.

This won’t help-

I don’t fucking care 

“So fucking done with this shit.” She hissed under her breath. The side of her fist met Celine’s door like it was a nose begging to be broken.

I’ll show you a rabid fucking dog.

Chapter Text

Zoey felt like she was standing in a completely unflagged minefield. She had no idea what to do. You grew up in this, how could you not know what to do?

Her only idea was to hold Rumi and let Mira do the talking, maybe help. But Mira was gone, and Zoey didn’t know what was going to happen once she reached Celine. 

Should I get Rumi out of here? 

No, that’s a bad idea. Celine could be outside, or maybe she’ll go outside. Besides, what if Rumi doesn’t want to and gets upset if I try to get her to move?

She hasn’t shoved me off yet, though.

Yeah, so don’t push your luck, Zoey.

A slam interrupted her thoughts, and Rumi jolted beneath her touch. Zoey held her harder, trying to pretend that Rumi wasn’t quivering like a baby deer in headlights. 

“I’m s-sorry… I didn’t mean to… make her mad…” Rumi murmured between quiet sobs.

“Oh, Rumi, no. Mira’s not mad at you.” Zoey ran her hand over Rumi’s hair, listening to Mira’s voice through the walls. “I promise, she’s not.”

“It wasn’t even her fucking idea! It was mine!”

Zoey winced. It was my idea…

“-trying to have some fucking fun! We’re just fucking kids!”

Rumi was crying again, hands covering her face as her shoulders shook. Zoey wasn’t sure what Celine was saying—if the older hunter was even getting a word in edgewise.

But she knew what it was like when the people she loved were fighting over her. Even if it was out of love, Zoey knew better than to think it felt that way.

“She does everything you ask, and when she doesn’t do it, JUST FUCKING ONCE! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!”

Zoey cupped her hands over Rumi’s ears, “It’s okay. I’m here. Just focus on my voice, okay? It’s gonna be okay.”

She wasn’t sure if she was talking to Rumi or herself. 

Rumi lifted her hands over Zoey’s and pressed down—hard. Even though Zoey’s hands ached a little under the pressure, she didn’t let any hint of discomfort slip out. She knew how horrible Rumi felt—a little ache in her hands was nothing. 

Besides, she didn’t think she could manage anything else. She hadn’t had a panic attack since she wrecked her home more than half a year ago. But the tightness in her nerves and the way every single thing she perceived was on the verge of too much threatened to break the streak.

She thought she’d gotten over it. Even if she hadn’t, this had nothing to do with her. Certainly, it shouldn’t be affecting her so easily.

Mira never liked Celine, and Celine never seemed to like Mira either. Not only did this fight not include her at all, but it wasn’t even a surprise that it was happening in the first place!

So why?

Why did it still rip at her so badly? Why did it make her want to disappear into the shallowest version of existence?

In the void where ideas should have been, memories she’d been failing to forget began to bubble up. 

Holding her hands over her own ears while her parents’ voices vibrated the walls. 

Shoving a pillow underneath the door to block out as much of it as possible.

Blasting music so loudly through her headphones that it pounded a headache into her instead.

Wait.

That’s it!

Headphones!

Zoey looked around, trying to remember where she’d left them. On the bed? Probably!

“Rumi, I’ll be right back okay, I’m gonna grab something. Just, keep your hands on your ears for now, okay?”

Rumi nodded meekly.

Zoey slid off the bed and as she reached the door, she opened it just enough for her to slip out, wincing as Mira’s voice became louder and clearer. 

She shut the door as gently and as quickly as she could, though she felt like she hadn’t done a good enough job of either. She dashed into her room.

In the hallway, their voices tore through the house, no walls to tame the bitterness in their words or dull the lethal sharpness in their voices.

“Watch your tone, young lad-“

“Watch yourself, bitch! I’ll bet there are demons with more compassion than you!”

Zoey made a mental note that she should never, ever get on Mira’s bad side. She found her headphones still plugged into her phone. She grabbed both and blew back across the hallway, nearly tripping over her own foot. She had her hand on the door when she heard footsteps. 

For a moment she felt paralyzed. Is that Celine or Mira? Are they coming this way? That would be bad. Should I-

I should stop them. Scream at them-

She shook her head. No, I can’t do that.

I can’t care about them right now. Screaming is so not what she needs right now.

Zoey slipped back in and shut the door just as the voices picked up again.

“This isn’t about feelings! What you three did was dangerous, and Rumi-”

Zoey tried to be careful, but in haste she fumbled the headphones over Rumi’s ears. She scrolled through her playlist like the world depended on it—the world did depend on it. 

She quickly found a song. It was in english, so maybe the lyrics maybe wouldn’t quite resonate-

Not what you should be thinking about!

She clicked the song, mentally kicking her brain for choosing now of all times to meander.

The Oh Hellos - Soldier, Poet, King

“Rumi is a hunter, she needs to understand that-”

“-Just because she’s a hunter doesn’t mean she’s not a person! You don’t fucking care about her! You don’t! I know you fucking don’t!”

Zoey wrapped her arms back around Rumi, feeling her lean a little into the touch. 

She could hear the song playing, muffled through the headphones. She tried her best to focus on it instead of whatever was going to happen in the fallout of this.

Chapter Text

She didn’t think about last night.

When she woke up wearing Zoey’s headphones, with Zoey’s arms wrapped around her in a death grip, head resting on her chest, she forced herself not to think about why. 

Instead, she wriggled herself free from Zoey before tucking the blanket back over her. What she would’ve given to be able to stay in that embrace. 

But staying would trap her in her thoughts. So, she carefully opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, doing her best to be silent. Two breeds of guilt tore through her. 

Guilt for needing them to hold her, and guilt for peeling herself away from it now.

The hanok felt foreign in the morning light. Everything was the same, in its place. But it felt raw, like every surface had a protective layer scraped away, leaving everything vulnerable. Every step she took was pressure on boards unexposed to the air.

A golden light splayed through the windows, capturing dust floating within in it’s all-seeing beams.

It was too serene. Too peaceful. 

Mira’s door was shut, and Rumi guessed that she was probably still sleeping too.

She walked into the kitchen and started making their breakfast, hoping beyond hope that Celine didn’t walk in first. 

Best it be nobody, but if somebody had to walk in, let it be anybody but Celine.

The sound of footsteps came while she was making the rice. The vibration in the floor turned her body to ice, her hand frozen over the hetbahn container in the microwave. Who?

The steps were long, each one taking with grace. But they didn’t strike the ground with Celine’s gravitas. They stepped with a different kind of sharpness against the floor, only loud in the silence of the kitchen.

Mira. Definitely Mira.

Rumi didn’t turn, instead reanimating herself to open the container and go about making breakfast. Her eyes were locked onto the ingredients on the counter, and they would go nowhere else.

As long as she kept the rest of the world behind her—Mira, Zoey, Celine, the Honmoon, the hanok—everything was okay. She could pretend. 

She knew the moment she turned, they’d analyze her for any sign of the cracks in her facade. And they would find them this time.

And that would make her shatter. Their analytical gazes would be her undoing. 

She heard behind her as a chair slid back, and then scooted forth. Mira was sitting. Rumi could feel the cold of the analysis. But as long as she didn’t turn, she could pretend she was imagining it.

Then she heard another set of footsteps. Scampering down the hall, almost as quiet as flight. But for Zoey, they were heavier this morning. 

But as long as she didn’t face them, the steps weren’t heavy. The walls weren’t raw. And she was fine.

She dreaded the moment she finished breakfast. She carried over their meal: bibimbap for everyone except Zoey. Breakfast was always cereal for Zoey.

She set each bowl down, her eyes moved from the counter to the table, never meeting their gaze. It didn’t have to be real. 

Her eyes betrayed her. They flicked up toward Zoey, and met hers. She looked away, hoping it could be nothing. But all she did was look at Mira. 

It was real.

Too real. 

In that brief moment, there was so much hanging in the air between them that Rumi wondered if anyone would talk again. 

They ate in silence, and Rumi kept her head down, focused on her food. She couldn’t deny it anymore. Were they staring now? Probably. But she couldn’t dare to relive that eye contact.

Someone had to talk, but she didn’t know how to bring anything up. Even if she did, she didn’t even know what she would have said about it. 

She just wished none of it had happened. 

I should’ve just kept that stupid door locked.

The quiet surrounding them shifted suddenly into dead silence. She knew what caused the shift.

I’m not moving. I’m not here.

No sound was made. Everything had stopped. Everyone was waiting to see what Rumi would do.

Carefully, she looked up, and her suspicions were confirmed with a dead weight in her throat. 

Celine stood in the doorway. 

Nobody dared to break the silence. It permeated the room like a barrier that kept chaos from erupting. It stabilized the tension, and to break it would be to endanger them all.

Zoey and Mira returned to their food, so Rumi did the same, resisting the dangerous urge to look at Celine to try and read her thoughts. The sound of eating made the silence, protective as it was, a little more bearable. 

Celine turned and walked to the door, “We’ll be doing combat training today.” She said, her voice just as cold and detached as ever. She slid open the door and stepped out.

Silence threatened to fill the room back up, but Mira set her chopsticks down a little too hard.

“Fucking bitch.” 

“Mira!” Zoey snapped in a hushed voice. If daggers could be a voice; that’s what she sounded like. Rumi had never heard Zoey sound so harsh. 

Mira lowered her head, her jaw clenched like she wanted to say something. Rumi wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what it was. 

She felt like everything she loved was crumbling and it was because she broke first. Had she not cried, had she just left the door locked, had she done literally anything else… none of this would have happened.

You ruined it.

Again.

Rumi stood up, “Are you guys done eating?” She asked as she looked up, only to realize their plates were completely bare. “Nevermind…” She mumbled as she reached over and took them. 

Zoey and Mira had stood up, and Rumi could feel some kind of tension behind her. What happened with them?

You already know.

You happened. 

“I’ll meet you guys out there, okay? I’m just going to neaten up my room real quick.” Rumi left the dishes in the sink and darted down the hallway. 

She had the feeling that if she left, maybe everything would stop. Maybe things would only be resolved if she stayed away for a bit.

Back in her room, she sat down, realizing that last night was the first time she’d slept in her bed in almost four days. The last time had been two nights before they went to Seoul. 

She wished she could pick and choose what she remembered from it all, but the last seventy-two hours were tied together, the good and the bad... 

She wanted to remember Zoey’s touch against her hair, and Mira’s mocking words. 

She wanted to remember the record shop, the kimbap and their battle with the demons—scary as it was. 

She wanted to remember having fun at the arcade and falling asleep next to the only two people who believed they could love her. 

She didn’t want to remember when Celine came home early. She didn’t want to remember… 

She shook her head like it would make the memories fly out of her head. 

Stop it. 

Just stop.

“Rumi?” Mira tapped her hand against the doorframe, snapping off her thoughts before they could start to spiral.

“Come in.” Rumi breathed. Mira walked over and sat next to her. 

“We don’t have to talk about last night, if you don’t want to.”

“Are you and Zoey okay?” Rumi blurted out. She had to know. “I’m worried” 

Mira sighed. “We’re fine.” Rumi could see Mira’s jaw tightening. Was she lying? Why did she still seem so mad? 

A more important question lodged itself in front of all others: “Wait, where is Zoey?”

“She said that if anyone was going to be the first person outside it should be her.”

Rumi shoved down all her nerves and grabbed Mira’s hand. There was no hiding from the world, not now. “Come on, let’s just get this over with.” 

“Wait, Rumi. Are you o-“

“Mira, I don’t want to leave Zoey alone with Celine.” Rumi said quickly as she dragged the taller girl to the door.

“Rumi, stop for a second.” Mira caught her arm. “I told you that you don’t have to be afraid of her. That’s still true.”

”I… Mira, can we just—“ She was going to go outside, but her eyes caught the stack of unwashed dishes. Those need to be cleaned…

What about Zoey?

Mira must have noticed, because she nudged Rumi toward the sink. “Do the dishes. I’ll go outside so Zoey’s not alone. Okay?”

“But Mir-“

“Rumi, I hate doing dishes, you’re doing me a favor.” Mira argued.

Rumi couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad would happen if she let Mira go outside without her.

But at the same time, she couldn’t control Mira, and she couldn’t leave Zoey alone. “Fine…” She reluctantly agreed.

“Okay, I’ll see you out there.” She flashed Rumi a thumbs-up and left, but Rumi’s stomach turned at the look in Mira’s eyes as she turned toward the door.

Rage.

The last time she saw Mira so indignantly angry was when her parents were here. She remembered it now; sitting on Mira’s bed, Mira looked almost as angry then as she did now. The same thing. Locked jaw, fingers curled into fists. Her voice held with a practiced calm.

Rumi waited a few seconds before she cracked the door open—just enough to hear if anything happened, before she quickly rushed over and started cleaning.

You should be out there right now.

She heard Mira’s voice, but she couldn’t make out the actual words she was saying. Anxiety had pulled every muscle in her body taut. What was happening? What if they were getting yelled at for her mistake?

She shook her head. Celine had never punished them or lectured them for what Rumi did. 

You’re being crazy. Celine’s not as hard on them. They’re literally fine.

“Guys, stop it!”

Zoey’s voice yanked her back into reality.

Stop what?

They’re not fine.

What’s going on?

The sound of weapons slashing rang through her ears, rattling her thoughts. This wasn’t the clash of wooden practice weapons. The way each clang lingered in the air told her these were real.

That’s not good. This isn’t good. I need to get out there, what’s happe-

A different sound echoed in Rumi’s ears. The Honmoon felt wrong—only for a second, but that second was long enough to turn Rumi’s stomach sour. She bolted out the door and saw Celine standing over Mira. 

The pink haired girl was weaponless as she started to reach for something, but Celine swung anyway. Rumi saw as Mira fell backward to dodge.

She saw the line of red form on Mira’s upper arm.

Blood.

Zoey once told her that even when standing perfectly still, they were all moving. The universe was ever-expanding.

The milky way galaxy was flying through space at a speed she couldn’t comprehend, and all the while the solar system was doing the same.

The planet Earth spun as it orbited the sun.

Everything was swirling, even when you were standing perfectly still, nothing was actually still. You’re just too small to notice.

As she watched the line of red form, everything stopped. Not just her. Not just Earth.

Every single thing halted.

Nothing dared to move.

Science could never explain it, but the universe froze in that moment, and it would be thawed only by Rumi.

In her, there was rage so primal and violent that it alone set everything back into motion as she stepped off the porch. 

Chapter Text

“Mira, this is a bad idea.”

“I don’t fucking care.” Mira hissed.

“Mira!”

“It’s just sparring, Zoey.” Mira said, her voice tightening with poorly masked anger.

“We both know that’s not true!”

“Zoey. Don’t stop me.”

She wanted to. All she wanted was to grab Mira and drag her back inside. But looking at her friend’s face right now was already a feat she wasn’t sure she could continue to manage. The way Mira’s jaw clenched, like she was holding a dam together. 

She’d never held up well around anger.

Anger set off something too instinctive in her; an urge to run away and hide until the heat simmered down to something manageable. If anger was heat, Mira’s skin should have been melting off.

“Mira…” She whined. 

Please, Mira, please! I’m scared and I don’t know what’s gonna happen!

“I’m not standing by and doing nothing.” Mira muttered. Zoey could hear the rage lying beneath her voice. Mira was holding it steady, but her grip was tenuous.

“Just go sit down.” Her voice was still so tight, like a wire drawn too taut. A single prick would cause everything to snap.

“If I don’t do this, I will actually put my fist through a window, or worse. Just… just let me do it.”

I don’t want to. I don’t want to let you. Zoey thought. 

But the desperation in the voice broke Zoey more than she‘d wanted to admit. She knew it was the wrong choice. She knew she should be doing everything in her power to stop Mira. She should.

But it wasn’t about her. It was about Mira. And Rumi. And what neither of them could do for her. Mira was trying to make the pain stop. She shouldn’t let Mira do this.

But she couldn’t make herself big enough to stop her, either. Fear and frustration won, and Zoey let Mira pass her. All she could do was hiss disapproval toward the taller girl’s back.

“This is stupid!” 

Mira didn’t turn back.

“I want to spar.” She called to Celine.

I shouldn’t have let her go.

She watched from the fence. What was I supposed to do? Would she have backed down? I don’t think she would have. 

If she gets hurt it’s my fault.

Mira summoned her gok-do, “Let’s fucking do this.” She muttered. It was just barely loud enough for Zoey to hear it. Mira moved first, and from the outset she made it clear what she was looking for. She fought bitterly, her strikes too dedicated to be merely sparring.

This is a bad idea

This is such a bad idea!

Why is Celine going along with this?

The answer smacked her in the face the moment that Celine came at Mira with the exact same ferocity. She had to do something. Anything.

“Guys, stop it!” She yelled. She jumped off the fence, willing herself to move. But she was stuck. She couldn’t just leap in… that could be suicide. 

Why do people have to do this? Why couldn’t we have just talked, or let it go?!

Zoey watched Celine quickly set Mira on the defense. 

Zoey, do something! 

Just as she was about to move, Celine used the disarming maneuver that she’d taught Rumi so long ago—Of course, Zoey hadn’t forgotten Celine’s ruthlessness in doing so. Mira’s weapon clattered to the ground, and Mira stumbled and fell.

You should have done something before now.

At least it’s over…

As Mira started to get up, Celine raised her foot and kicked Mira back down. “Hey.” Mira practically growled the word, her tone low and threatening. She reached for her gok-do.

Celine’s sword swung through an arch. Mira tried to dodge. 

The world ground to a halt. 

Zoey saw a small line of red. A scratch. Barely. But its existence alone was the problem.

A serious line had been crossed. Then, at the edge of her vision, Zoey noticed a splash of purple on the porch of the hanok. 

Rumi.

She’d seen Rumi in many states in the last six months. She had seen Rumi when she was cold and composed, when she was happy enough, scared enough, or sad enough for that cold mask to crack with warmth. She had seen Rumi overwork herself, and she had seen Rumi roll off a bed because she was “too tired to sit up.” A few times, she’d even seen Rumi get angry. 

There were no words to describe Rumi now.

Two languages in her brain, and Zoey couldn’t find a single word in either one to even begin to describe this. 

The girl went from perfectly still to sprinting at the drop of a hat, and the world shied away as her saingeom shimmered into her grasp. She skidded to a stop between Celine and Mira, the dry dirt at her feet kicking up and wafting along the weak breeze like a cloud.

Zoey hadn’t even realized that she was running too—finally. But she dropped to her knees beside Mira, 

When Rumi opened her mouth, her voice quickly banished everyone else’s right to speak.

“Don’t. fucking. touch. her.”

Each word stabbed, like Rumi had imagined a unique way to murder Celine as she said each one. 

“She wanted t-“ Celine began, but Rumi held her sword up and took a dangerously committed step forward.

“I don’t care.” Rumi hissed. “I don’t care what happened. Who wanted what. You will not hurt my hunters. They’re mine.“

‘my hunters’

‘they’re mine’

The words echoed in Zoey’s chest, and the Honmoon rippled beneath each of them, as if even the souls that made it agreed with every word Rumi said. Zoey couldn’t help but feel some unspoken undercurrent between Rumi and Celine as they stared each other down. When Celine averted her gaze, muttered and stepped away, Zoey was flabbergasted. Celine never backed down… so why did she this time?

“Mira, you okay?” Rumi’s voice had lost its venom  and vigor. Instead it was laden with concern as the girl turned. In an instant she was on the ground, Mira’s shoulder in her hand.

“It’s just a scratch.” Mira shrugged dismissively. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have-“

“I’m so sorry.” Rumi breathed.

“Rumi, I’m okay. Celine’s done way worse to you for far less.”

“So?”

“‘So?’” Zoey grabbed Rumi by the hand, “If you’ll stand up to Celine for us, then-“ She didn’t know the words to say. Now is when you can’t think? Come on Zoey!

“-don’t be surprised when we do it for you.” Her eyes flicked to Mira as the older girl finished for her. 

“But you’re the ones worth standing up for.” The words were said with so much ease, as though Rumi didn’t realize, or even understand how twisted that was.

“You’re worth it to us.” Zoey argued. “And you.” She turned to point at Mira. “That was insanely stupid! Celine had no right—but you didn’t have to be so bullheaded!”

“I know… I’m sorry.” Mira lowered her head a little, breaking out into a chuckle. “That really was stupid.”

Hearing Mira say ‘I’m sorry’ meant more to her than she thought it should. Because the apology meant her worry wasn’t a product of craziness or misjudgment.

She wanted to thank Mira for it. But Mira was the type to retreat when her kindness was put under a spotlight. She chose instead to make them laugh. Making them laugh always helped.

“Yeah, you scared the crap out of me. I thought you were off the deep end, and we’d have to throw you into a mental hospital.” Zoey looked back at Rumi, “For the sake of Mira’s sanity, please believe it when we say we love you.”

“I’m sorry… ‘for the sake of my sanity’?” Mira stared at Zoey with a look that said ‘fuck around and find out.’

“Hey Rumes…. I think it’s too late for her...” Zoey nudged Rumi’s shoulder, smiling at the sweet sound of Rumi chuckling warily—it hadn’t even been a full day since she last heard Rumi make a happy sound. Still, she had missed hearing it so much.

Mira stood up, smacking Zoey on the back of the head as she walked by, but even she couldn’t cover the smile that played across her lips. “Okay, so, training?”

“Your arm’s okay?”

“All good, little sucker ain’t even bleeding anymore.” Mira summoned her gok-do. “Come on, Zo. Time to get wild.”

“That’s going into one of our songs, I hope you know that.” Zoey jumped up and summoned her shin-kal before glancing at Rumi, who had stood up, and now silently watched over them. “Hey, Rumi? Before I kick Mira’s butt—for being a total dummy!” She shouted in Mira’s direction to make sure she heard it, “I just wanted to say something.”

“Yeah?” 

“I’m really happy I met you.” And Zoey darted off after Mira, hoping that if she didn’t give Rumi a chance to say anything back, she might actually take in the words.

Chapter Text

They had only truly felt another creature through the Honmoon once, back in Seoul. Mira still didn’t know if Celine knew about that little part of their trip, but she decided to assume the older hunter did. The witc—the woman usually did.

Mira was still working on fully letting it go. She knew she needed to. It had been nearly two months since then.

Zoey was actually fourteen now, and Rumi would turn fifteen in another month. 

Spring had come in unapologetically, injecting color and zest back into the world. Enough time had passed that she had no good reason to hold onto her spite. Nevertheless, anger was one of those feelings that effortlessly wormed its way into Mira’s skin.

But she was trying to be better. She never really apologized to Celine, nor did Celine apologize to her. She figured they’d silently settled on the common ground that they both went too far. 

The cut was barely a scratch. Didn’t even reach the dermis. It was gone within a week. That small sting the cut had made was an afterthought. She remembered feeling that little trickle, looking at her arm, and then back at Celine.

She’d always had a penchant for getting into fights. She was armed with a set of trigger-happy fists that found a nose a little too quickly. But she would never cut another person. That was a line, and Celine had crossed it.

She really believed she could have wrecked her life right then. She had thought she might leave. Or commit murder. She felt like if she got back up, she would turn into something else.

And she was about to do something.

But then Rumi was there. 

It was the first time she wasn’t alone in standing up to a bully. She didn’t have to be “Mira the Menace” that time. Rumi didn’t know it, but somehow, she had washed away Mira’s anger. Dumped ice water over her head and reset her mind. 

All she could think at the time was: That is my leader.

She shook herself back to the present. The forest surrounding the Sanctuary was another level of dense and wild. The animals that lived here were… somewhat odd, at times. 

Mira swore that once she saw a buck with a blue coat. Then again, she was really tired on that patrol, so maybe she’d just imagined it. 

Whether it was real or not, she wouldn’t have been surprised. Nothing could really surprise her anymore. 

It wasn’t exactly every day someone could drop something as reality-breaking as “Hey, by the way, demons are real but when three special girls sing together it unites the souls of others and makes a barrier to keep most of them away.”

She couldn’t believe that it had almost been a year since she arrived here—well, eight-ish months. Now that she thought about it, it was right around a year ago that her dreams of the mountain, of the dangsam tree, of Rumi, had begun. 

The sound of a branch cracking consumed Mira’s focus. She didn’t summon her gok-do. It didn’t feel necessary yet. She zeroed in on the direction she thought it came from and focused all her energy on feeling the Honmoon. Letting it tell her where to go.

Where are you guys?

This kind of training was new, and frustrating. Especially because she still sucked at it. Back in Seoul, Mira and Zoey hadn’t even detected the weakness in the Honmoon until the physical tear actually formed.

That she did feel. 

Nothing compared to the feeling that crawled up and down her spine like a parasite. It had crept up on her like a monster about to tear out her throat from behind. A cold, merciless sucker punch to anything good in the world.

She shuddered at the memory of the it. But then the memory changed, and Mira was thinking about the moments surrounding it.

The way Rumi had locked onto the disturbance before anything had even happened.

How she had known exactly where to go. 

There were moments like that sometimes, where Mira was reminded that to Rumi, there was never a bombshell. 

She didn’t have to learn that demons were real, or about the Honmoon. It was never a truth to come to terms with. 

It was just… life. She grew up with the Honmoon—no wonder she could read it so well. 

But to Mira, everything that had happened, even now, still felt unbelievable. The only thing that reminded her that—yeah, this is real—was the feeling that thickened her blood and settled her nerves whenever she thought about Rumi and Zoey. 

Mira had never been one for closeness. Keeping distance was her salvation growing up. 

But with those two girls—neither of which had a personality with which she would have considered herself compatible—she was inexplicably tied to them.

Even though it felt like she hadn’t met Rumi until only a few months ago. Even though the girl barely talked and suffered so silently and efficiently that sometimes she barely looked like she was alive. Even though Zoey would barge into her room at ungodly hours with random facts. And even though Mira herself never quite understood why they didn’t run the first time she got angry near them.

Despite it all, they were tied together. And despite themselves, the knots had tightened into something unable to be unraveled. She’d always thought the threads connecting them were tenuous at best.

She was wrong. They were intangible, sure. But they were more real than the ground under her feet. More important than the air in her lungs

She knelt down and grazed her fingers along the ground, and Honmoon responded with a pulse that emanated out. Finding two specific souls with the honmoon was like trying to find two specific molecules of water in the ocean. 

But as Mira focused, she became conscious of their presences. She wasn’t sure which direction they were in, but she could feel them somewhere.

Focus. Show me the way. Come on, Honmoon.

She slowly turned in a circle, until she had the slightest twinge of a sense that northeast was—somehow—probably… maybe a better direction than any other. 

She took off, her feet light as she worked her way through the overgrowth.

She broke through into a clearing, only to realize she was back at the Sanctuary. 

She stared up at the Dangsam tree with a thorn of irritation poking at her insides. “Dammit!” She shouted, stomping her foot into the dirt. 

“Mira?” Rumi’s voice came from the woods.

“Rumi?”

Some of the leaves rustled as Rumi stepped out from the line of bushes. “You went the opposite way.”

“Yeah, I figured that out.” Mira muttered. Rumi’s expression faltered for a moment, and Mira sighed, “Sorry. I’m just not that good at this, and it’s frustrating.”

“Where’s Zoey?” She asked, hoping to change the subject.

Rumi thought for a second before looking over her shoulder into the woods. “She’s west of us. Headed this way.” She walked over to the Dangsam tree and sat against the trunk. Mira followed and sat beside her.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

”Yeah, what?”

“How long have you been able to feel the Honmoon?” Mira asked.

Rumi took in a long breath, clearly trying to build a timeline in her head. “A long time. Even before I knew what it was, I felt this lull. Like I had an invisible rope tying me to something.” 

They were silent for a minute, Rumi dragging her finger along one of the tree roots. “Sometimes I could feel you two.”

“Really?” Mira asked. “What did it feel like?”

“It felt like I was in the woods, in complete darkness, but there was light emanating from somewhere in the distance. Two lights. You guys.” She smiled nostalgically. “And I just knew that someday I wouldn’t be in the dark.” 

Rumi glanced up, her soft smile quickly evolving into a smirk, “Well, there’s Zoey.”

“Gah-so many friggin thorns! Stupid honmo-“ Zoey’s… monologue… for lack of a better word, tapered off as she stumbled out of the bushes and made eye contact with Mira. 

Rumi chuckled beside her. 

“Hey, you guys!”

“Hey.”

“Yeah, I suck at this.” Zoey snickered as she slid in beside Mira. The girl played it off like a joke, but Mira could feel the undercurrent of insecurity. 

“You and me both.” Mira replied. “Rumi found me, I was totally hopeless." She felt relieved when Zoey’s shoulders relaxed a little bit, pleased that maybe she had helped. 

“You guys will get there.” Rumi reassured. “It just… takes time, yknow?”

“Yeah… I guess so.” Zoey said. “What were you guys talking about?”

“The Honmoon, how it like… tied us together.” Mira summarized.

“Oh, you mean like the dreams?” Zoey smiled. “I don’t get them anymore. Kinda miss them, not gonna lie.”

“Dreams?” Rumi leaned forward curiously, “What dreams?”

“Hold up. There is no way we’ve never talked about… holy wowza, we never have!” Zoey scratched her head, “ohmygoshokay! So, a couple months before I auditioned at Sunlight, I started getting these really weird dreams. I’d be in the woods and someone was singing the hunter’s lullaby. I even wrote down the lyrics in one of my notebooks. Not important, anyway, I’d always follow the voice and then I ended up… right here… actually…” 

She looked around, her eyes squinting with mild dissatisfaction. “Well… kinda. The only thing that I ever really saw was the tree, and I never actually reached it.” She looked at the ground, “Anyway. The image just… stuck. Sometimes I’d see the Honmoon too, the lines and all that.”

Mira was about to say something when Zoey’s eyes lit up and she quickly blurted out, “OH MY GOSH I ALMOST FORGOT!” She turned to face Rumi. “I think you talked to me once!”

“What?” 

“Yeah! Yeah! One time, I almost got here, but then I couldn’t move, and I heard someone say ‘Someday, promise me.’” She shifted onto her knees, “You remember how I like, froze up and got all panicky when I auditioned? When you talked to me I was totally freaking out, all like ‘omg what the hell I know that voice how is that possible-‘“

Mira glanced at Rumi, who shuddered.

“I never knew the Honmoon could do that…” Rumi sat back, her hand tucked beneath her chin. 

“Mine were similar. I heard that song so much, I’d run to the tree every time. A couple days before my audition, I sort of saw you. Couldn’t actually look right at you. But then you turned around, we locked eyes, and I woke up.” Mira explained. “Right after that, I run away. I go to this audition, hoping to make it big and never see my family again. And then, this little, black-haired prick steals my seat. Not only that, but she has a drawing of the exact tree I’d been dreaming about for months-“

“Hey! I ain’t no prick!” Zoey elbowed Mira, to which Mira bonked Zoey lightly on her head. 

“But yeah… Oh, by the way, this girl?” Mira pointed at Zoey, “Psychotically good at drawing when she wants to be.”

“Can I see it? The tree?” Rumi cocked her head to the side like a puppy looking at something for the first time. Mira hid her smile with her hand.

Zoey shrugged, “Sure.” 

“Do you have other drawings?” Mira asked.

“Nope. None.” Zoey spat out the words far too quickly for Mira to believe them. “You totally do. Are there any of us?”

“Nope! Not doing this!” Zoey shoved her hands over her ears, “La-La-La-La-La!” She scrambled up, turning to face Mira and Rumi as she backed toward the bushes, “You’re gonna have to hunt me down, Honmoon style!” With a cheesy salute she bolted into the brush.

“So… you guys had dreams…” Rumi tilted her head back. “Did you ever see Zoey?”

Mira thought back… “Might’ve. I saw someone really far away once or twice, couldn’t ever make them out.” She sighed and stood up, grabbing Rumi’s hand and pulling her up too. “Speaking of which, we should probably go find her. I’m hungry.”

Chapter Text

Rumi knelt down at the grave. The name she’d read a million times—Ryu Mi-yeong—staring back at her. A pang of guilt resonated in her chest. 

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. She propped the photo up beside the grave, then lit the incense. Celine was away again for business, so she couldn’t be there. 

She could have invited Mira and Zoey… but it would have hurt too much. Or, worst, could have led to questions. 

And she couldn’t want that. Not for this.

The scent of the incense swirled into the still, morning air. Celine told her once that her mother loved that smell, and so they always made sure to have that incense for her.

She continued placing bowls in their proper places. Her mothers favorite foods—kimchi jjigae, tteokbokki, gimbap, and mandu—with her favorite spiced ginger tea. 

The scents mixed into the ghost of a memory. A piece of someone she never got to know. Her fingers traced the edges of the gravestone she knew better than the woman it named. 

“Mom?” She whispered again, scared that the world would hear the confession about to slip from her lips.

“Please forgive me. I never wanted to steal your life.”

The words hung in the air, and Rumi knew no real answer would ever arrive for her. She’d never know if she was forgiven. All she could do was hope. 

To the rest of the world, Ryu Miyeong died July 24, fifteen years ago. Just a couple months after her daughter was born. Even to Rumi, for a while, that was the truth. It was one of the few times Celine had the kindness to lie instead of letting the sick, condemning truth sink under Rumi’s skin.

Rumi was never held by her mother. She didn’t even know if her mother heard her first cries. Rumi took that away from her. She took everything away from a stranger whose love she craved so pathetically. All she’d ripped away, and she still craved something more.

Selfish.

She sat for a long while, watching as the coils of steam became less and less pronounced. The shadows had noticeably shifted by the time voices fractured Rumi’s focus into panic.

“How did I not know about this whole garden? I thought it was just the tree!” Zoey’s voice bubbled up from the south. They were at the base of the tree line. It was almost like a shield, that single line of shrubbery and trees blocking all view of the garden. Of the small stream that weaved around.

Of the grave.

“I know, I’m surprised neither of them mentioned it. This is so… pretty…” Mira’s voice hung low. Any moment they would see her. 

“Rumi?” 

She wiped her eyes quickly as Zoey’s quick, pitter-patter steps drew near.

. . . . . . . . . .

“Zo, wait.” Mira’s voice was laced with a severity that begged for compliance. She stopped, and a moment later she realized why. She’d been so focused on Rumi that she hadn’t noticed.

Not the food, not the incense. 

Not the headstone. She read the name delicately carved into it, and it stabbed regret directly into her. “Oh, Ru, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean t-to…” She tapered off as her brain failed to create more words.

“We can give you space.” Mira chimed in, voice steady. Zoey shied back to her side. “Yeah, whatever you need.” Zoey added.

“It’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Rumi’s gaze fell. Zoey could tell she’d been crying, even though she was pretending otherwise. “Y-You can stay… if you want.”

So they sat. Zoey stole glances at Rumi as the silence wrapped around them. She looked like she was in agony. What was it about today? Zoey racked her brain for a reason Rumi would be here.

The incense, the food, the tea. It seemed like too much to be just a simple visit. Was she forgetting a holiday? She was terrible at remembering them. Too many dates. 

“I bet she was an incredible person.” Zoey mumbled, shunting away her thoughts. “I wish we could’ve met her.” 

Rumi swallowed a choke, the shine of tears returned to her eyes.

“You miss her?” Mira asked, but the question was more of a statement.

Rumi hesitated long enough to glance up at the gravestone.

“Yeah.” 

They stayed until the last stick of incense finished burning. As the scent wafted away, they cleaned up the headstone. Zoey watched the way Rumi obsessed over every chip off its edges, every divot where dirt could accumulate. She cleaned it surgically. 

Zoey glanced at Mira, who gave a nearly imperceptible shrug. A silent way of saying “I’m not sure either, Zo.”

Once everything was cleaned, they started walking back toward the hanok. “How often do you do this for her?”

Rumi shrugged, her shoulders tensing upward slowly. Like weights were tied to them. “Not so often. Holidays… and stuff.” 

Zoey could hear the tension rising in her voice. She was getting too close to something. So she backed off. “It’s called Jesa? Right? I think it’s really sweet. We never did anything like that in America.”

“Really?”

“Every family’s a little different, but most aren’t as… habitual, about it, I guess. But I’m sure your eomma loves it.”

She saw Rumi’s jaw twitch with a momentary tightness. Biting down on something Zoey couldn’t quite see. What is it? Tell me!

Be patient. Zoey warned herself. She’s prone to bolting.

As the hanok came into sight through the trail, Mira tugged on both their sleeves. 

“Hey, so, we should warn you.” She said to Rumi, “We didn’t know you were, y’know.” She tossed her head in the direction of the garden. “So… we sorta put up decorations for your birthday.”

“You guys didn’t have to… I don’t really celebrate my birthday.” Rumi said. Her voice was flat, but definitely not emotionless. There was something there, it was just too thick to wade through.

She shouldn’t have done it. She should have kept her mouth shut. She knew Rumi was a runner, and she could see how ready the girl was to take flight.

“Hey, are you okay?” 

“Fine.”

The answer came way too quickly. Back off. 

She glanced at Mira. “We don’t have to do birthday stuff. I get it if you’re not in the mood. It’s your day, we should do what you want.” She offered a smile, but Rumi just stared at the ground like she wanted to hit something.

”No, I am excited, I’m just also kind of tired.”

Zoey blinked. Maybe Rumi was being honest. Maybe that’s all it was. Rumi glanced between them; “And… I just… kind of miss my mom right now.”

Zoey nodded. 

“We understand” Mira said assuredly. “You don’t have to hide from us. Ever.”

”Yeah, we love you like crazy. We’ll let you get some rest, and if you feel up for it later… maybe another sleepover?” Zoey fake-fired finger guns, hoping to cut some of the tension in her nerves. 

“Yeah, maybe.” Rumi smiled, but Zoey couldn’t tell if it was her real smile, or if Rumi was just getting better at lying.

She really hoped for the former. For every reason she begged for the former to be the case.

They said they wouldn’t push. That she should rest if she’s tired. That they love her and she doesn’t have to hide. They did everything right, right?

So why don’t I feel like we did anything? Why does it feel like we made it worse? Did we miss something?

She shook her head as Rumi turned away and walked toward her room. She was overthinking it. Everything made sense. She missed her eomma. After all, the day the Sunlight Sister died was only a couple months away. Of course Rumi would be a little down around that time. 

I’m just being paranoid.

Am I?

Yeah, yeah I definitely am.

”Is she okay?” Zoey asked

”I don’t know. It could just be like she said. Maybe she’s just tired.”

”But what if—“ Zoey sighed as she stumbled over another loss of words. 

“It won’t do anything if we’re just worrying. She said she was just tired, and she misses her mom. We have no reason to doubt her. So…” Now Mira sighed as she leaned against the wall. “Until she gives us a reason? We have to believe her.”

. . . . . . . . . .

Rumi turned the lock on the bathroom door. The sound of the deadbolt slotting into place felt final. Like it declared security—or guarantee privacy.

She crept over to the mirror and slid her sleeve up. The patterns teased her. Growth so slight it shouldn’t be noticed.

She noticed. She could see how the jagged curls twisted just a little bit more than they had. Like evil fingers slowly wrapping themselves around her. She forced herself not to think of what could happen once their grasp was widespread enough. 

If it weren’t for them, it would all be different. Locks wouldn’t be saving graces. Lies wouldn’t be shields. If it weren’t for them, she might have even forgiven herself.

Plenty of people die in childbirth. It’s not the child’s fault.

Except she wasn’t a plain old child. That truth didn’t apply to her. It never applied to her.

She was a curse. A thing never meant to be, that was nonetheless walking, and talking, and breathing when Ryu Miyeong should have been the one doing all those things. The fact that her mother died the way she did, it was because of the patterns. Because of the cursed thing that was born.

It was because of the patterns.

She hated them. Hated them so much she felt the urge to dig into her skin and rip them out. “I hate you.” She hissed. “I hate demons. I hate Gwi Ma. I hate all of you. I’m not one of you.”

Demons don’t feel.

She felt.

Demons don’t love.

She loved.

Demons don’t care.

She cared. She cared so much it hurt.

And demons don’t get hurt. 

She stared at her arm, a feeling of bile bubbling up in response to the knot of disgust in her stomach.

Demons have patterns.

She had patterns.

It didn’t matter what else she said, or thought, or did. All they’d learned—what she herself taught to them—was that if it has the patterns, it has to die.

If she didn’t turn the Honmoon gold, she’d deserve the same fate.

Chapter Text

“I miss Zoey.”

“Me, too.”

That had been the majority of their conversations since they dropped her off the day before. Zoey was probably suffering from jet lag somewhere in America, but Rumi felt like she was the one dying. 

One of her two halves was across the world, and she felt it. Their connection had only grown, but now distance was violently yanking at a thread that tied directly into her heart. 

She could still smell Zoey’s perfume on her pillowcase. The scent of it was both euphoric and depressive. It reminded her of Zoey. Of her warmth. Of the spark and zest she sprinkled onto life. But the memory of it only dug at the gaping void she left behind.

“She’s only there for a couple weeks.” Rumi murmured. “Its just a couple of weeks.”

”Thirteen more days.” Mira replied.

”Thirteen more days.” Rumi repeated. “That’s not long. She’ll be back in no time.”

The silence stretched on as the lie tried to sink into their minds. It failed miserably. It already felt like she’d been gone an eternity.

“Okay… we’re pathetic.” Mira grumbled. “This is pathetic. It is thirteen more days.” 

Rumi felt her stomach growl. A few seconds later, Mira’s did the same. Mira dropped her head in defeat. “Welp… the stomachs have spoken.”

Rumi sighed, “I’ll make breakfast.” She rolled off of Zoey’s bed, the loss of the scent already ripping further into her. She stepped into the kitchen. Celine was sitting at the table, coffee in her hand. She nodded at Rumi as she came in. 

“I understand that you miss her… but it’s past noon.”

“It is?” The shame hit Rumi like a freight train. “Sorry, Celine.”

Celine sighed but said nothing. She’d been… softer recently. Less harsh with notes, sometimes almost seeming like she maybe liked the three of them. Rumi guessed that Zoey was probably Celine’s favorite of the trio. 

Sure, she was loud and chirpy, and almost always forgot to wait for the oldest person to eat before digging into a meal. 

But Mira was more headstrong than Zoey, and Rumi knew that Celine didn’t like back talk. Rumi knew that things were still tense from-

I’m not thinking about that.

Zoey was probably Celine’s favorite. Definitely not Mira, and as for herself… she knew how Celine felt about her. 

Maybe someday she would be fixed, and then maybe she’d be Celine’s favorite. But that wasn’t going to be today.

She turned to start making their breakfasts, and her eyes caught the box of Kellog’s Chocolate Chex mix—Zoey’s favorite. 

She couldn’t help but smile at it. The cereal was yet another reminder of yet another thing she was going to miss like crazy.

Rumi cooked most of the time. Mira had taken a liking to it, and so a lot of the time they either took turns or made meals together.

Zoey was a certified disaster in the kitchen, though it wasn’t for lack of talent. Her tendency to either get bored or distracted led to either half-done food or the kitchen turning dangerously translucent with smoke.

So, Zoey was usually content to watch and make jokes. And she loved the food they made. Except for breakfast. Cereal was her only breakfast, and she followed that religiously. If they ran out, she’d go without any food at all until lunchtime. 

It was one of those habits that Zoey inexplicably and vehemently refused to alter. Now, the box sat on the shelf, just as abandoned as her. Just as aware of Zoey’s departure.

Rumi reached for the box. She then opened the dishware cabinet and grabbed two bowls. Finally, she plucked two spoons from the silverware drawer. She was about to pour the cereal out, but Celine interrupted.

“The two of you will be throwing that up in an hour, you know.” She said without looking up from her papers.

Rumi shrugged. “Probably.” 

“You’re still training, whether you stomach it or not.”

Rumi nodded. Even now she felt renewed relief at the lack of sharpness the woman’s words usually carried, “Yes, Celine.” 

She walked out of the kitchen with the bowls and spoons, in one hand and the cereal box tucked under her arm. She slid the door to Zoey’s bedroom open and stepped in, grabbing the cereal box and displaying it for Mira.

“That’s breakfast? Zoey’s chocolate assault?” Mira snickered.

“Got a better idea?” Rumi asked. “Or would you like to get up and be productive?”

She threw her hands up in surrender, “Hand over the poison.” Rumi offered it and Mira inspected it, a smirk forming on her face. “So… this is making breakfast? Ryu Rumi, your standards are slipping.”

“Shut up.” Rumi said curtly, but her facade melted in a heartbeat. “I just really didn’t want to cook. I don’t know.” 

“I… I get it.” Mira mumbled. “Hand over the chocolate assault.”

Rumi poured the bits into the bowls and handed one to Mira. They sat beside each other on Zoey’s bed, but neither ate yet. 

Rumi ran the spoon along the surface of the chex. “Celine’s disappointed.” She mumbled.

Mira’s face quickly shifted into something serious, tone deep and urgent.

“Rumi-“

“-No, no, it’s okay. I’m okay. Promise.” Rumi cut her off quickly. “She said we have to train today, though.”

“Ugh. Pass.”

“What else are we going to do that we haven’t been doing? Please? I’d really rather just train. Accomplish something. This is insufferable.” Rumi begged. 

Please… Rumi hoped Mira would relent. Logically, she knew it was okay that Celine wasn’t proud of her right now. Celine was never proud of anyone.

But it still dug at her that Celine was disappointed. She needed a distraction from Zoey’s absence, and she had to make up for yesterday’s slack-off too. 

She’d let her routine slip, and she needed it back. It was a lifeline that was starting to loosen when she needed it most.

“Fine. We can train.” Mira gave in.

Rumi took a silent breath of relief as she lifted the spoonful of brown cereal bits to her mouth. The flavor of manufactured chocolate filled her mouth. Admittedly, it did taste good, in a dessert kind of way.

She couldn’t imagine having this for breakfast every day before they went out and trained until their bodies gave out on them.

How is Zoey even alive? She thought with a chuckle.

”What’s so funny?” Mira asked between bites of her own.

“Nothing… just thinking.” Rumi answered as she took another bite.

Thirteen days.

Chapter Text

She was used to doing this.

Every summer she used to fly to Seoul, spend time with distant family who gritted their teeth at the sight of her skateboard. She learned very quickly that her more raucous hobbies ought to stay home in Burbank on those trips. The skateboard stayed under her bed.

In the past, she would get on the plane to California, settle into seat, and exhale with relief because finally, she could leave the strangers that were supposedly family. 

She had always loved Korea. Its food, its beauty, its landscapes, its language. Its culture and history… Zoey loved all of it. As great as America was, it was a melting pot. And that was all well and fine, but it didn’t feel as unique as Korea.

But Korea wasn’t perfect either. Sure, it was gorgeous and unique, but it also had the family that looked at her like she was culturally tainted. Like she was stupid for forgetting rules she never grew up with. They stared at her like she was an alien when she talked about shows that—apparently—weren’t watched in Korea.

And that unfortunately made Korea the littlest, tiniest bit insufferable.

But this time it was different.

For the first time sitting in the seat, she was holding her head in her hands, wrecked with the urge to sob and sob and sob.

This time, when Zoey thought of “home,” Burbank wasn’t the place she imagined.

Her mind was latched not on escaping a judgey family, but instead on the growing gap between her and her fellow hunters. It felt like there was a chasm growing in her chest that would swallow her if she didn’t run back to them now. Right now.

She could. She could leap right out of that seat and bolt like a wild animal off that plane, and sprint back to Seoul. She almost genuinely entertained the thought when the seatbelt sign flipped on, and the idea sizzled out as she shackled herself to the seat.

Two weeks. That’s all it is. She reminded herself.

I’ll come back to them. 

. . . . . . . . . .

The flight was uneventful. Zoey wore her headphones the entire time, blasting music at her emotions so they wouldn’t suffocate her in the stale-aired cabin of strangers.

She kept her arms at her sides. The only hint of her need to get the actual hell out of there was her leg bouncing up and down for nearly seven hours straight before she finally passed out.

She found herself jostled awake by the tall guy in the window seat beside her. “Hey, kid! wake up!” He muttered. “We’re getting off!”

Zoey scrambled out of her seat, apologizing frantically as she dragged her backpack out of the way. She looked at the man as he staggered out; he was clearly exhausted.

Jet lag’s gonna kill him… she thought as she ‘patiently’ waited for the line to advance ever closer to the front of the plane. 

The most boring time of any flight was the very end. She changed up her playlist, set her clock to Pacific Standard Time, and texted her dad, double checking that she had a ride. 

In all that time, she took a grand total of four steps forward.

And she used the word ‘steps’ very generously.

She felt her blood boil a little. This is literally the slowest way to unload a plane. Why would you do it front to back? This makes no sense. If you went by proximity to the aisle it would be so much faster! Maybe this is what causes jet lag.

She shook her head. It’s fine, I’m not in a rush! Everything is… AGHHH!! WHY CAN’T THIS JUST GO FASTER?!?

Eventually, she finally got off the stupid godda- the plane… And managed to find herself falling into the rhythm of arrival. 

Convince immigration you’re supposed to be here: check

Stare at a conveyor belt and wait until your bag appears: check.

Write words, fill out the customs form (that you should have fill out earlier)—why am I so sore? Stupid airplane seats. Worst beds ever.

Finally: the arrival hall. 

The final boss of airport landings. 

Objective: Survive.

Too many people. As much as Zoey loved an impromptu conversation—which, admittedly, was very commonly one-sided… probably only enjoyed by one side—she hated crowds. 

She wasn’t tall enough to breach its surface. She could only bustle around and hope that she recognized her dad in between shoulders that jostled together.

And sure, those impromptu conversations were fun—or just conversations in general— but here there were too many were happening at once. 

“I’m so excited to see-“

“OMG that necklace is so pretty-“

“I signed us up for-”

“That was such a good trip-“

“-underwhelming-”

“-then the guy sa-“

“Mommy!”

Zoey pulled her headphones over her ears and queued up a song. She’d learned a long time ago how to escape the flood of noise: drown it out.

Now she turned this hellhall into a game. Find Dad. Ready? Set? and… GO!

She dodged in and out of groups, weaving along the slow, her eyes constantly scanning for the path that only exists if you truly believe in it. Search for the opening, then strike. Seize it. Conquer the hall!

And… there’s Dad. Game over.

I win. Take that, LAX!

“Dad!” Zoey yelled. She abandoned restraint and poise as she accidentally slammed into the side of a woman—who did NOT appreciate her youthful vigor—and then immediately stumbled over someone else’s foot before she managed to get to her father’s side. She panted a little as whoever she’d upset shook their head and brushed her off.

Whoops…

“There’s my little whirlwind!” Her dad smiled down at her, “Did you get even taller?” His voice was laced with mockery as he tossed his arm over her shoulder.

“Shut up, I’m doomed to be a shortie.” She hung her head in mock-shame. “Doomed to watch everyone else on the roller coaster!”

“We’ll get you on one someday.” They began weaving their way together through the sea of bodies, “So? How was Korea?”

Zoey opened her mouth to dump the equivalent of a doctoral dissertation before she realized—what can I say here?

She hadn’t had to genuinely ask herself that question in months… The images of Rumi and Mira popped into her head, and it felt like that chasm in her chest awoke again. It had been so easy with them. There was almost nothing to hold back. Every time she worried about the impact of her words, they surprised her. She loved them. She loved her dad, too.

But she also knew he couldn’t surprise her like that.

They’d have this conversation. This conversation was the only thing she actually had to do while she was here. But if she had it now, the remaining six days would be tense. Filled with overthinking, filled with her dad’s sighs that she would pretend not to hear, for fear of reopening the wound. Everything they did together would be spoiled under the lens of “I’m not coming back.” 

If she waited long enough, she could dodge all of it. She could wait until she was at the gate, drop the bomb, and bolt onto the plane before the aftermath could reach her. Technically speaking, she could do that. 

In reality? She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. 

That meant she had to find somewhere in between. The right moment. The right words, in the right place. The perfect balance of factors to minimize the devastation she was about to inflict on the man who’d raised her. 

She shook it off. You can’t do this right now…

“Hey, zoomer, you alive?” 

Zoey snapped back into existence, “Sorry! I was-“ She scanned the airport for anything that could have caught someone’s attention, “-just looking at that lady with the chihuahua in the dress. Who does that to a dog?”

Her dad glanced over and inhaled through gritted teeth, “Yikes…”

“Korea was good.” Zoey finally answered. “Like… really good.” 

“I figured. You were always a pretty spry kid but look at you now! What did you do, live in a gym?”

Well, Dad, I’m actually part of a group destined to do battle with demons. Demons are real, by the way. But don’t worry, because uniting souls with music holds them back! Um anyway, I in fact lived on a psychotic training regiment so that I could be a demon-killing kpop star.

“I met these two friends who are really into working out, and I guess they infected me too.” Zoey said with a laugh. “They’re really cool, names are Rumi and Mira.”

“Well, that’s great kiddo!” They found the car, and the drive started. Zoey pulled out her notebook and flipped to the first clean page. She made two main sections:

Stuff Dad can’t know.

1. Anything demon/Honmoon/Celine related
2. No personal details about Rumi or Mira
3. Nothing about combat training

Stuff Dad can know

• Safe zone

1. Mira: physical details, dancing skills, acts all cold but she’s sweet
2. Rumi: physical details, she’s quiet but really nice, she has a beautiful voice

Note: You said they were really into working out, don’t forget that.

Note: Again, don’t go in depth about personal details. That’s not cool.

• Danger zone 

1. I want to keep living with Mom and come here for the summer
2. I’m currently being trained to be part of an idol group
3. Music is my passion and I’m doing this.

She sat, biting the end of her pen. She wished she had more to write in the safe zone… but her experience of the last 8 months was sorely lacking in things she could talk about to anyone, much less her dad. 

“So, Rumi and Mira, what are they like? Aside from being, olympians, apparently.” 

She could lean into some of the danger zone stuff now. She just had to be careful. Very careful

“Well, I met them through a music event—y’know, that audition.”

Yeah… that’s not a lie. Just… not all the details.

“It’s like our souls were entwined before we even met.”

That’s actually 100% the truth.

“They’re the kind of friends I’ve always dreamed of having. I wish you could meet them… you would love them.” Zoey couldn’t help but smile at the thought of them. 

She checked her phone: 12:00 PM 

Can’t believe it was 5 in the afternoon half a day ago. It’s 4 in the morning there…

Too early for her to call them. Her mind wanted to wander as they wove through traffic, but all the bleh feelings she’d been ignoring until now smashed into her like a wave. The sun was too bright, when was the last time she drank water? 

Crap, when was the last time she drank anything? 

I ate lunch around noon before I left for the airport yester-well, technically tod-at noon before the flight. She did the math in her head. 

5 hours before the flight, of course you didn’t eat anything in the flight, that would have been smart and since when would you have done the smart thing…

12 hours on a goddamn plane and you ate nothing. Brilliant. And it’s already been a couple hours. 

Almost twenty hours. 

No food.

She had a vague memory of Mira and Rumi yelling at her to drink something other than coffee because she’d end up being dehydrated.

Jesus Zoey, how are you alive?

“Hey, Dad? Do you have any water?”

“Oh, yeah yeah, check the cooler in the back. Packed you some snacks in case you were hungry.”

Zoey could feel her eyes go into predator mode as she saw the absolute bounty of edible things. She snatched two water bottles and as many granola bars that one hand could hold—which turned out to be seven.

“Hey, hand me one of those bars.” Her dad held his hand out, to which Zoey adapted the most violently feral look she could muster. “Don’t touch my food.” She mockingly threatened.

Her dad scoffed. “Let me get this straight. I send this kid to Korea. Pay for her ticket there and back. I drive all the way down to the airport to pick her up after eight months of radio silence, bring her food and water… and what do I ask for that’s unreasonable? One of the granola bars THAT I PAID FOR!”

Zoey burst out laughing. She missed her dad’s dramatic outbursts. She wondered how often strangers must’ve thought she was getting the lecture of a lifetime, only to see her laughing like a total dope. 

“You’re damn right it was too much.” Zoey shoved half of one of the bars into her mouth. “Ahh. I missed my processed chemical food.” She said with a giggle. “It’s too natural in Korea.” She tossed a bar to her dad, who shot her a side eye and a smirk.

“God, I needed this. I haven’t had anything to eat or drink for almost twenty hours.”

“How are you alive?”

“That’s what I said!” Zoey knocked on the dashboard.

“Hey, genius? That ain’t wood.” Her dad mocked.

“It’s got the word ‘board’ in it.” Zoey shot back.

“I think we need a refund on your school tuition... Money was not well-spent.”

“Missed you too, Dad.” Zoey leaned the backrest as far as it would go and laid down, leaning her head back. Finally she could let her neck—which was so stiff that Zoey guessed it was identifying as a board at the moment—stretch out a bit.

She wasn’t tired. Moreso just… spent. Like she’d just been on a rollercoaster ride but without the actual thrill of it. So… she felt like air got blasted at her, and she was rattled like a maraca for just long enough that her brain kept slipping on and off autopilot.

She could have passed out on the ride home, but she fought the urge tooth and nail. If I nap right now I can kiss any semblance of a stable sleep schedule goodbye. 

She picked her notebook back up. She didn’t really have anything to write, so instead she started flipping through older writings and drawings. This notebook was newer, only about six months old by now.

She had drawings of Mira and Rumi, some genuine attempts, others were funny little chicken-scratch caricatures. She drew the Honmoon’s wavy lines in the corners a lot. It was an easy design that, in her mind, sealed all of her demons into the notebook. 

She wasn’t sure exactly how that idea had wriggled its way into her head, but she liked it, so it stayed. 

She flipped further back, where she’d sketched the big demon they’d killed in Seoul. There was a lot of stuff on that page. A few random lyrical lines that Zoey wasn’t sure would fit anywhere, random scribbles that could have been anything from sentences she’d regretted starting to moments when she just violently needed to move and make marks on something.

There were little notes too. 

I just loooove kimbap.

Rumi for god’s sake choose one

could I write a song about kimbap?

I totally could.

A mess of scribbles followed.

Nevermind. I totally can’t.

She snickered at the line, then her eyes flicked over to the little doodles of Mira’s gok-do and Rumi’s sword, along with a bunch of drawings of demons.

She flipped to the front side of that page.

We’re going to Seoul!!!!! 

A drawing of the Seoul skyline (which, based on how it looked, was done with no reference) sat below it. 

Above that was a note:

Rumi liked having her hair braided. (Add that to Rumi’s page!)

I think she likes contact.

But she never asks for it

If I hold her more will she open up?

Maybe. I’m gonna try that.

Above that, there was another note that made time stop:

Please nobody throw this in a river.

Not this one. 

I’m not alone anymore.

I hope.

Zoey lowered the notebook, slowly closing it. She took a long breath before releasing it in a silent sigh. She sat up, hoping her dad didn’t notice that her hands were shaking as she slid the notebook back into her bag and zipped it up.

Stop it. It’s okay now. I’m not coming back here for good. I belong somewhere now.

Dad doesn’t know yet.

What if he doesn’t let me?

Well, then I’m going anyway! I don’t care! This is my purpose!

You’re gonna see them all again.

I don’t care.

You do.

I don’t want to.

You still need it so badly. Still nothing but a sap for their approval, huh?

No, I’m more than that.

Are you?

Yes. What time is it?

She checked the clock: 12:48

It’s only 4:48 in Seoul. At the Sanctuary. They aren’t awake yet. 

I need them awake.

Stop it! God just stop it! Everything’s fine! You’ll be home in like ten minutes.

Her mind stumbled over the word “home.”

Home… huh? How is this place home?

Its… not.

When did that happen? When did it stop being home?

Maybe it just never was.

She took another slow breath, feeling her heartbeat ease up… probably…

Easy, brain. Just chill. Everything is different now, and it’s good. Two weeks. That’s it. 

You can handle that. You’ve handled worse.

Chapter Text

She’d only been back for a couple days before she had to get out of the house. Whenever she was in the same room as her dad, the weight of the deadline was heavy on her shoulders. A single thought kept playing in her mind whenever he was around:

Not yet. It’s not the right time. Not right yet. Not right now.

And she’d surrender to her own mind every time, backing out with cowardice before cracking a lame joke. So, she grabbed her bag and the barest of essentials.

“Hey, Dad, I’m going for a walk! Be back… I dunno, at some point.”

“Send your location if you get kidnapped.” He called back. She smiled a little.

“And make it easy for you? You gotta work a little harder than that.” She saluted as she stepped out the door. The guilt didn’t say inside where it belonged. It clung to her like burdocks. 

She found herself beelining for the park. She strolled along those paths a million times before, when her brain was burdened by other things she couldn’t say without hurting someone.

The familiar sights were soothing. Then, her eyes glanced off a bench. The very same bench she’d sat on over a year ago when she came across that news article. She walked up to it, carefully running her fingers along the cold striations.

“Thank you.” She whispered. She took two steps before she had to ask:

Did I really just… thank a bench?

She shook her head and kept walking. Yep. She totally did. She refused to turn back and surged onward, but as she came over the lip of a hill she caught sight of a group of kids. They looked fami-

Shit.

They looked at her, eyes wide with recognition.

Ooh boy…

Hands waved frantically in the air, but she didn’t respond. She forced herself to believe that they were actually waving to someone behind her. Because she had learned a long time ago that if she was wrong, and they weren’t waving at her, she was supposed to hate herself forever.

But then they kept waving. And then their voices, grating against her ears like a salt on wounds, yelling out, “Hey! Zoey! Zo-ey!”

She raised a have and slightly waved back. Politeness. Avoidance. Nothing more.

Why on earth are they calling me over? She double checked to make sure her notebook was tucked securely in her bag. 

They aren’t laying so much as an eye on you.

Zoey walked over and they greeted her as though they were best friends.

Sarah, Milo, Hunter, and Evelyn.

Four kids who’d made her life hell. 

“Wow, I almost didn’t recognize you! You’re so… different!”

Zoey shrugged, ignoring the absolute explosion of panic, overthinking, and surge of desperate effort to form a coherent sentence going on inside her head. “I got into exercise.”

She hoped they’d shrug her off and go back to whatever they were doing before. She didn’t want to be here. Not with them. She checked her watch: 2:18

It’s 6:18 there… could they be up by now? Wait, are they still talking? Crap they are.

“Haven’t seen you in forever, dude! So where ya been?” Hunter asked.

I’m not your dude.

“Seo-South Korea.” She answered, not sure if they’d know where Seoul was. Was that something normal, non-half-and-half kids knew?

“I always forget you’re Korean.” Sarah said.

You never let me forget it.

“Half, but yeah. It’s gorgeous over there. The mountains, I loved it.” Polite words. Her eyes scanned the path from which she’d strayed. Good god, just let me leave.

“So can you speak Korean?” Evelyn spoke up.

Yeah, you made babble sounds at me when I was on the phone with Eomma.

She nodded, and the four stared at her like she was holding the money she owed them. 

“Well?” Sarah said, expectantly. Like it was obvious that was the obvious next step in the conversation.

It wasn’t.

“Say something in Korean! I wanna hear it!” Evelyn exclaimed.

She had half a mind to turn and leave. I hate these people. Why are they pretending we’re friends?

We’re not friends.

But then an idea popped into her head. “Okay,” She forced the smirk to stay off of her face. 

“너희들은 다 괴롭힘꾼이야. 잔인해. 괴물이 아닌 척 그만해.”

[You’re all bullies. You’re cruel. Stop pretending you’re not monsters]

She spoke it, meaning every syllable.

“Omg you sound so cute!” Sarah clapped a little.

“It’s such a gorgeous language!” Evelyn swooned.

“What’s it mean?” Milo asked.

“It means ‘The sun and the stars guide us beyond ourselves.’” She smiled as she lied right through her teeth. And they smiled back. 

“Yeah, it’s a common Korean saying.” Another blatant lie, but they ate it up. It took every shred of energy not to wear the smirk that was currently draped over her entire brain.

Idiots. I’m so getting out of here.

“I’d love to stay and chat, but I gotta run. My dad’s got this whole thing planned. Bye!” She turned, but Hunter called out again;

“Hey, Zo, there’s a party at Savannah’s house tonight. You know where Savannah lives?”

Savannah.

The name injected a thick taste of bitter directly into her taste buds. Her skin crawled at a memory she was so not dealing with. 

Zoey bit her tongue to stop herself from crying right there. “Yeah. I know where she lives.”

Her voice felt cold as the words slid off her tongue.

“You should come! Please?”

“I’ll think about it.” She called back. She quickly began walking toward the nearest thing that would give her cover from their gazes: an old pavilion in desperate need of TLC.

She sat down against one of the posts, and pulled out her notebook. The pen almost moved on its own. 

So, what, now you think I’m cool?

After years of torture

in that stupid, stuffy school?

You think you broke me?

You think you tricked me?

Well ya didn’t. I’m with it

see you for what you are

And I ain’t the kid you kicked around in the yard

We’re hunters now.

So you think I got tricked?

You boutta get hun-tricked.

The lyrics were the kind that she’d never reveal to anyone alive. The play on words made her cringe for a second, but then… 

Huntricked.

Kinda catchy. Satisfying. Still cheesy, though.

Huntrick. Huntricks.

Zoey smiled as she heard it in her head. “Huntrix.” She whispered. She felt her entire body bounce with excitement as she yanked out her phone and stuffed her notebook safely back into her bag.

They better be awake!

Chapter Text

The third day into what might have been the most pathetic she’d ever felt in her life had barely begun when Mira’s phone rang. Rumi picked it up, her face lighting up, “It’s Zoey!”

“Answer it!” 

Rumi quickly did so. 

“GUYS HOLY CRAP I GOTTA TELL YOU SOMETHING-“

Mira jolted back from the sudden noise. “Ow! Did you put her on speaker??? Never put Zoey on speaker!”

“Sorry!” Rumi said sheepishly. “Zoey?”

“Yeah?!”

“Tell us, but go slow.” She said.

“O-o-o-okay.” And Zoey ‘slowly’ prattled off everything that had happened. Mira felt her fists clench. 

“I’ll kill them, Zo.” 

“That will not be necessary. They don’t know it but I called them cruel bullies. And monsters.” And then she went on about whatever that meant.

“But yeah so I was really mad about it, so I got away from… ugh… them. And then I started writing. And I won’t bore you with my thought process-“

Mira smirked. She had no problem telling us about the really cool frog she saw while walking the path, but this is where she bores us?

“-I think I have a name for our group?!?” Then her voice went all squeaky and incomprehensible. Mira couldn’t tell if she was just squealing to get rid of what Zoey called her “crazy energy” or if she was actually trying to convey something.

But the prospect of a name stirred hope. They’d been… struggling… for lack of a better word. They weren’t into acronyms or amalgamations of their names. And they’d never managed to settle on anything. Nothing ever clicked.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Okay, ready?” Zoey asked.

They nodded, only to remember Zoey couldn’t see them. “Yeah.”

“Huntrix!”

Zoey now went silent, clearly waiting for their reactions.

Huntrix.

And there it was. At least in Mira’s mind, the name did exactly what she wanted. It clicked into the slot in her brain where it always belonged.

Mira smiled. “I actually kinda like it. The -x at the end goes hard.”

Rumi nodded. “It’s perfect for us.” 

“You like it? Really?” The sound of rapid clapping burst from the phone. Mira just knew Zoey was probably beaming like crazy. She glanced at Rumi, who nodded with a small, but genuine smile.

“Really. I think you found our name.” Mira said.

“You’re joking. Don’t joke with me. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I’VE BEEN STARING AT WORDS TO TRY AND MAKE UP A NAME??”

“Why do I have a feeling the answer is eleven months?” Rumi murmured.

“What’s so special about eleven months?” Mira glanced at Rumi, and then the phone. “It’s about how long we’ve known each other.” Rumi said. 

No way. There is no way.

That’s all it’s been? Not quite a year, and her life was this different? Her world was this different? “Whoa… I just…”

“I totally get it! Like dude…  a year ago I was in school with… ugh… but now I’m a Hunter, I have you two, and everyone here keeps complimenting me on my muscles, so… thank you Celine, for that.”

“Celine’s not here.”

“Good, if she heard that she’d throw it in my face when I want a day off.” The sound of Zoey’s giddy laughter filled Mira’s ears. God, she missed her friend.

“Go easy on Celine. She barely even made us train yesterday.” Rumi chimed in.

“Nope. You’re kidding.” Zoey declared. “There’s no way.”

“To be fair, someone else made us train.” Mira muttered. “Right, Rumi?”

Rumi only responded with a shrug before she looked back at the phone.

“We didn’t even wake up until noon. Then we ate your cereal.” Rumi explained. “Celine said we’d get stomach aches, and almost nothing else.”

“Wow, you really miss me.” Zoey teased.

“Never thought I’d say this, but Celine was right.” Mira remarked, remembering her and Rumi keeled over on the carpet, groaning in agony when Celine walked in. 

The older woman had stared at them for what felt like a very long time. Then she just sighed, shook her head, and walked out.

Rumi whispered, “We did eat the entire box.”

“Shh… Zo doesn’t k-“

“You ate ALL of it?” Zoey whined through the phone, “aw man!”

“Rumi…” Mira growled, shooting Rumi a glare. When Rumi responded with a smirk instead of her normal look-down-and-look-like-a-kicked-puppy face, Mira couldn’t help but smile back. Slowly, but surely, Rumi was coming out of her shell. Asserting herself in little ways like that.

She wondered for a moment if Rumi’s walls would ever really crumble. She and Zoey had been working away at them. Though, their strategies were very different.

Zoey was chiseling pieces away gently and methodically. She played dumb but Mira could see the way that Zoey moved whenever Rumi or she was upset. She wasn’t the kind of person to sit down and force a conversation, but somehow Mira always found herself talking to her. 

Mira herself, on the other hand, felt like her methods were more akin to a sledgehammer.

When Zoey was leaving, she’d actually been really nervous about being alone with Rumi. She loved Rumi, but Mira wasn’t always sure she was careful enough.

If Rumi got stressed out, or started overworking herself, she wasn’t entirely confident that she knew how to help. 

She didn’t want Rumi to shut down—she’d seen it before, the way the girl’s expression would melt and then solidify into something stoney. She’d stand up and leave whatever room, summoning her saingeom as she slid the door open. Movements too smooth, footsteps too quiet. 

And sometimes she wouldn’t come back in for hours. Mira had found her passed out, sword in hand, enough times to know that she and Zoey would be managing Rumi’s overworking for their entire lives.

She was more than okay with that, but that didn’t mean it worried her any less.

Zoey had kept talking about something, and Mira sat and listened. Rumi seemed to have abandoned all hope of getting a word in edgewise, and instead leaned against the bed frame.

“-guys should come to burbank and I can show you around and stuff! We could even egg my old school or something fun like that! You’d love my dad, too. He’s such a goofball-“

“Must be genetic.” Mira said with a scoff.

“-He can’t really cook anything but he thinks he can. Hey that actually reminds me… that’s weird I don’t know why that reminds me cuz it has nothing to do with my dad but-“ Zoey cut herself off with a long breath. “Sorry, lungs are too small to say all the words. So anyway, those four jerks at the park? They also invited me to a party. Forgot to mention that.”

“A party?” Rumi asked. “What kind?”

Mira would have said “It’s a highschool party, dummy. Like the ones we saw in those movies. The red solo cup ones.” but she held it back. For one thing, something in Rumi’s tone said she might take a jab at her obvious lack of socialization to heart this time.

For another thing: Zoey was already talking again. “Well they didn’t say but they’re fifteen, so they’re probably going to be drinking. I don’t really want to go, but my dad thinks I should.”

“I mean, Zo if you don’t want to-” Mira started, but Rumi cut her off.

“Maybe you should give it a try? Not like you have to drink.”

“You’re suggesting this? You? Ryu Rumi, the girl who has left the sanctuary so few times I can count them on one hand?” Mira shook her head. “Did you get like… concussed?”

Rumi’s expression softened, “Exactly. It’s… unpleasant to realize you’ve spent your entire life never experiencing the things that are so natural to everyone else.”

“I… I never thought about that…” Zoey’s voice stalled. “Yeah, you know what? You’re right Rumi. Even if I hate it, at least I’ll find out.”

Another voice came from the phone, muffled. Zoey’s voice came back in english: “Oh, coming!”

“I gotta go, I miss you guys!”

“We miss you too, Zo. Have fun!”

The phone beeped as she hung up.

Mira glanced at Rumi, and their gazes were locked for a moment over the phone. “She’ll be okay, right?” Mira asked.

Rumi’s shoulders dropped, her eyes full of confusion. “I just told her to go and hang out with the people who used to bully her.” Her hand slid up to her neck, rubbing the back of it—a nervous habit Rumi’d had since Mira met her. 

“Rumi, Zoey can handle herself. And you were right. Who knows? Maybe those kids have actually changed, stupid as they are, and maybe Zoey gets a chance to get past some of it. This could be really good for her!”

“It could also be really bad for her.”

“All we can do is hope for the good. And if it goes bad, she’ll be home in time for us to be there.” Mira took in a breath, and forced the words out before her mind could catch up and stop her. “She’s like a little sister to me. I’m not going to let anyone break her.”

“She’s an ocean away, Mira!”

She smirked a little. “Just one ocean? That’s nothin’.”

She meant it.

Chapter Text

Zoey was not a coward. 

Okay… she totally was.

But she wasn’t going to be one tonight. She opted to wear a nice pair of streetwear pants—thank you, New York, for the coolest pants ever made—and an oversized Twenty-One Pilots shirt. She found her old leather bracelets she’d bought at some small town fruit fest years ago. She didn’t even remember the trip, but the bracelets were cool. 

While digging around, she uncovered a set of throwing knives she’d become obsessed with a couple years ago. Now that she thought about it, she was pretty sure they were illegal… Definitely not supposed to be in her underage hands.

She shrugged. Gotta break some laws if you wanna be American.

She glanced around to make sure her door was closed and her window shades pulled before she summoned one of her shin-kal. Guess I’ve always had a thing for them…

She picked up one of the knives, balancing it in her hand, tossing it up and down to adjust to the weight. “Okay…” She looked at the dart board for which she’d spent weeks begging her eomma. She aimed and flicked the knife free from her grasp. It flew forward and buried itself just off the bulls-eye.

Dang. Zoey tossed the pack of knives down, but as she glanced down to the shin-kal she’d yet to dismiss, she swapped hands and aimed again. She threw it like she had a million times before.

The sound was loud, and Zoey felt the impact reverberate through the floor. The shin-kal vaporized into shimmering dust as she gawked at the damage. “Jesus, Honmoon!” The dart board had a thick gash in it that dug deep into the dry wall.

Why did you throw that?

Gah! Stupid Zoey!

“Ahhh cra-app! Zoey yanked her other throwing knife out of the dart board and shoved it back into the drawer where she’d found it. As she slid the drawer shut her dad knocked and walked in. 

“What the hell was that?” He asked, looking around

“Sorry! I tripped and I fell into my dresser and then it hit the wall, and then everything almost fell off of-“

“Okay, okay, I… got it.” He looked around her room again, his face softer, thoughts deeper. “Isn’t it weird to be back? It’s been a minute”

“A bit… all this stuff… like you said. It’s been a while.” Dear Dad, please don’t notice the gash in the dart board. 

“Well, once you come back again in August, you’ll slip right back into the swing of things.”

Her heart wrenched in her chest. She opened her mouth, but they spoke at the same time.

“Dad, I-“

So, you-”

Zoey chuckled against the anxiety welling up.

So close.

”Sorry, you go first.” She said.

”I-uh… Ready to go?”

“Umm… yeah, just give me one second…” She forced all thought of the talk she’d almost started out of her head. She rifled around her bed until her hand struck the curve of plastic that she immediately recognized as her headphones. She snatched them up and turned them on to check their charge.

“Battery medium” the robotic voice chimed.

Zoey turned them back off. Good enough… the minute they die I’m leaving.

“Yup! All ready.”

The car ride was quieter than it usually would have been. So much so that Zoey risked turning on her headphones now just to have something playing through her ears.

She turned on her Twenty-One Pilots playlist: she was already wearing the shirt, after all. Might as well commit.

The beat picked up, and Zoey felt herself slip into the music like it was a drug. 

Walk the layout

Routines in the night

Some doors have ‘stay out’ 

Spray painted in white

While all the world’s asleep

I walk around instead

Through the memories

Down the halls in my head

Streetlight after streetlight, the beat kept going as though it couldn’t have cared less about anything.

Who cares if she’s scared? Everyone gets scared.

Who cares if every streetlight they passed was another streetlight closer to the object of her fears? Fears are meant to be faced, or some dumb, poetic crap like that.

Who cares if she was too much? The music gripped her too easily for her to be all that hard to hold.

When they got to the house, she slid out of the truck and took three steps before turning back.

“No later than midnight, right?” Zoey said it like a question, but she didn’t mean it as one.

“You could stay lo-“

“Midnight. Right?” Zoey repeated.

Her dad nodded, probably realizing he wasn’t winning this one. 

Zoey walked up to the door and, had her dad pulled away, that would have been it. She would have run. But her dad stayed, making sure she got in okay.

Reluctantly, she knocked. She was surprised when the door actually opened. Part of her was hoping this was it, that this was the joke, to be left outside the party altogether. But a kid much taller than her opened the door—oh… great… it’s Hunter.

“You came!” Hunter grabbed her arm and pulled her inside, “C’mon, let’s get you a drink.”

Zoey’s stomach twisted in unease. She’d never drank before. And she was not going to do it for the first time on enemy territory. Playing nice, she took the cup he offered. Whenever nobody was paying attention, she’d pour a little down the drain. 

She couldn’t bring herself to talk to any of them. Every face was another memory she didn’t want to keep.

Hunter himself had shoved her into that creek far more than once.

Sarah usually would steal pages out of her notebooks. If they were ‘juicy,’ she’d either read them or tape them to peoples’ lockers. If they were ‘boring,’ Sarah would simply ball them up and throw them back at her. Zoey once tried to abandon her notebooking habit just to avoid it all.

That little saga ended in a panic attack in the middle of the cafeteria two days later.

She ‘finished’ the cup of whatever with a final pour down the sink. She dropped the can into the little puddle that crept toward the drain. She glanced up, and her blood ran cold.

There she was. Standing in a group of girls.

In sixth grade, Zoey had a blue and black composition notebook. It had been bought in the fall and completely filled out in the span of five months.

Somewhere in that notebook there was a big smear of blood from when she was walking, and Savannah shoved her. She tripped and fell face first into the stair railing, and the blood dripped all over before she managed to get her hand secured over her nose.

Maybe she hadn’t meant for it to go that way. maybe she didn’t mean to break Zoey’s nose. But it went that way. Her nose got broken. 

That wasn’t her worst memory of Savannah.

They locked eyes, and a for a moment, Zoey felt the sick, familiar weight lodge itself in her chest. There was a wire connecting them, but a jagged fishhook tied to Zoey’s end, tearing at her insides if she tried to move. 

“Savannah.” She hated how weak her voice sounded.

“Hey… Zo…” It was the realest greeting she’d gotten so far from anyone. It almost sounded like Savannah realized she had something to be sorry for.

Almost.

“We’re gonna play 7 minutes in heaven, come on.” She reached out and knit her fingers around Zoey’s. Her heart jumped in her chest.

What did I do wrong?

Stop asking yourself that.

I don’t want this.

7 Minutes in Heaven. Fun for everyone except for 2 victims at a time. Victim 1 spins a bottle. The bottle points at someone else; Victim 2. Then the victims sit in a closet for 7 minutes and do god-knows-what. All the victims get to do is hope that they make something semi-positive out of the incident.

Heaven must have a very loose definition. Zoey thought. She wished she had her notebook. That could be a good lyric if she could hold onto it. 

Kids went in and out. Zoey watched their faces each time. The first pair walked out with their tongues still tangled. Victims 1 and 2 seemed to made the best of it.

The next two walked out, heads down. The boy left with tears in his eyes, the girl sat back down, guilt all over her face. No relief for victims 3 and 4.

Victims 5 and 6 came out the same as victims 3 and 4, though they both at least stayed, an awkward glance between the two of them likely being the last time they’d ever interact.

Victim 7 took the drink instead of Victim 8. Victim 8 did not stay, instead retreating to lick his wounds.

Victim 9 laced her fingers around the bottle. Zoey followed them up. The bottle spun, and Zoey watched it spin with a horrible feeling in her stomach. Like this was doomed to happen. Why did I sit down?

Lo and behold, the bottle landed on her.

Zoey looked up, playing nonchalance like an amateur drama kid in a school play. “We can respin if you want.” She said mechanically. Just spin the stupid thing again. For both our sakes. 

“Nah dude this is the game!” someone whined.

“I’m no coward.” Savannah stood up. “C’mon.”

Her stomach felt a familiar pang of horrible anticipation. But she stood up, ignoring the urge to snap and throw a bunch of magical throwing knives at people.

Savannah would have gotten to the door first, but someone tugged her arm. Zoey watched her shoulders shrug upward. She passed her and walked into the dim space.

This is definitely a setup. Get out of here!

No. I’m not a coward.

Yeah you are. That’s exactly why you can’t work up the guts to do anything except follow along.

She didn’t turn. She placed her hand against the drywall. Not quite cold and not quite warm. Not enough of anything to capture the attention of her senses.

Instead, her ears were latched onto the sound of footsteps, her nerves latched onto feeling as each step echoed through the floor. Zoey didn’t understand how, above the crashing quakes made by the music, she could still feel every step Savannah took. She hates how her ears could still pick out the light squeak of the hinges, followed by a click as the door shut.

She turned around and leaned into the wall, begging it to swallow her. 

Another memory—well, memories. A entire novel’s worth that she’d shoved so far down she really thought she’d lost them.

. . . . . . . . . .

The eighth week of sixth grade, Savannah moved to Burbank from somewhere else in LA. She was introduced to everyone, and she sat next to Zoey.

“Hi, I’m Savannah. What’s your name?”

Zoey couldn’t fully tear her eyes from her. Savannah had jet-black hair and hazel eyes. She could have stared into those eyes forever. Savannah’s black ripped jeans and a loose white Imagine Dragons T-shirt told Zoey: She’s way too cool to talk to you.

“I’m Zoey” She forced out.

“Whatcha drawing?” Savannah looked over Zoey’s shoulder at her notebook. “Whoa. That’s a lot of stuff.” 

Zoey shut her notebook quickly enough that Savannah wouldn’t start to snoop, but slowly enough that it didn’t seem like she was hiding something. She slid it into her bag, “Just a hobby.”

“It looked cool. I like your pants, too. Very punk-ish.”

“Yeah! My dad got them for me for my birthday last year… I like your jeans too. Hardcore.”

Savannah giggled at that. A low, hearty chuckle that made Zoey too hopeful for the best.

Class started, the teacher already blabbering. Zoey zeroed in on his words. Or… tried to. The super cool nice girl—who’d actually talked to her—to her right was not helping her focus.

She powered through. When the bell rang for lunch, she grabbed her lunchbox and backpack, but a hand at her side drew her attention. “Hey… I’m sorry if I’m being annoying, but could I sit with you at lunch? I don’t really know anybody.”

Zoey smiled, “Yeah; of course!” The words came out before she even realized that she hadn’t actually invited Savannah to sit at a table. Her lunches were eaten under the gym’s bleachers.

Well… I can brave the lunchroom if it means a friend… 

Her nerves were on fire as she walked beside Savannah into the lunch line. She looked around, eyeing an empty table off to the side. “I brought my own lunch, so I’m gonna grab us a table, okay?”

“Okay, sounds good!”

Zoey slipped between kids and quickly jumped into one of the seats, setting her lunchbox on the table. It was a Pokemon lunchbox, but at some point Hunter saw it, laughed at it and said she was a toddler for still using a kiddie box. So, she covered it in duct tape. No longer kiddie.

She opened the lid, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw that her mom made her kimbap. Kimbap wasn’t her favorite, but it didn’t smell a lot, and when other kids saw it they assumed it was sushi.

Savannah only reinforced the claim as she sat down beside her. Her eyes went wide at the lunchbox. “You have sushi? Dang, are you rich or somethin?”

“No, my eo-“ She cut herself off, “My mom made it…” She thought for a second before breaking. Maybe Savannah was different. She had been so far. She took the risk; “it’s actually a… uh… Korean food, it’s called kimbap.” She shook her head, “but, it’s basically sushi.”

”That’s cool.”

‘Cool?’ No friggin way. She thinks it’s cool??

“Yeah, she likes making it.” Zoey explained. “I like the veggie filling the most.”

That was a lie. She loved the kimchi filling far more, but she would never step foot into this school with kimchi ever again.

Savannah nodded as though it were nothing to gawk at. Nothing worth mocking her over. Meanwhile, Zoey’s heart raced.

She never understood how nothing ever seemed to bother anyone except her. They all seemed to know exactly when she was bothered. 

Gym followed lunch. Zoey got changed. Savannah was there, and they chatted. The conversation didn’t include mockery or anything. Just two kids bonding. She was starting to wonder if maybe they’d actually be friends. She wanted to be.

She tried hard not to interrupt Savannah when she spoke. She tried extra hard not to speak too much in general. She didn’t say a word about the animal facts she’d found in a book, because then she wouldn’t be able to stop herself.

A week passed. Another went with it. The friendship didn’t crumble.

And one day she was about to walk into class when she decided to write some stuff in her notebook. She fled to the bathroom and sat on top of the toilet so nobody would know she was in there. The door opened while she scribbled. She thought nothing of it, save for making sure she wrote softly enough not to be heard.

“Why do you even hang out with her?”

Zoey froze. That’s Sarah. Who’s she talking to?

The question fell in the space between when lightning strikes and thunder follows. The flash before the explosion. Calm before the disaster. She was trapped in that space for too long a time. She knew thunder followed lightning.

And she knew whose voice would answer Sarah.

“She was nice to me, I don’t know. If I’d known she was such a spaz, I wouldn’t have. Basically got stuck with her.”

Spaz.

Stuck with me.

And there was the thunder. It crashed over her, grabbing her lungs violently and squeezing the air out. Crushing her heart in between. Her ribs dug into her like carving knives.

Zoey carefully shut her notebook, leaning over until she was hugging her knees and shoving her head into them.

Everything hurt. She didn’t realize her chest could feel this tight. She didn’t realize the lump in her throat could get that big, or that her heart could pound so loudly through all of it. Every organ must be in tethers, bleeding out inside her. The blood must be running free, and at any second she’d drop dead.

She felt that heartbeat through from her skull to her toes. It echoed in her thumb and throbbed in her gut. They can hear it. They can definitely hear it.

She wanted to scream. To cry. To do anything at all. Get the hell out of hear before her lungs finally exploded from all the sobs she was holding in. 

She wasn’t aware of any noise until the door clicked shut. She waited a few seconds longer, a reassurance that she was alone. 

And then the flood tore through her eyes without mercy. Wetness streamed from her eyes. Her lungs reanimated with impossible breaths. It was sharp at first, high pitched wheezes that devolved into coughing fits. She couldn’t believe how many tears were dripping off her chin. She wiped her eyes until her shirt had a large wet spot darkened by tears. 

She didn’t go to class that day. She was called to the office and scolded. Told that this ‘wasn’t like her.’ They called her dad.

“Zoomer, what were you thinking?”

She opened her mouth, about to finally let herself break in front of someone. Prepared to let herself cry again. But her jaw locked while her eyes squinted just enough to hold back the tingle behind them.

She couldn’t do it. She wanted to. She wanted to sob into anyone’s arms and say she just needs someone to help. Someone to tell her she’s not useless. That people aren’t stuck with her. 

Someone to contradict the voice in her head that knew all to well what to say to make it hurt.

But she couldn’t have that. Crying now wouldn’t give her that. It would only start another fight.

Because if her dad knew his little girl couldn’t fit in with America, he’d feel like a failure. He’d yell at her mom because the Korean lunches get her bullied. It wouldn’t be about Zoey. It would be about Korea.

If she told her mom, she’d insist that Zoey should spend a year in Korea. Because it wouldn’t be anbout Zoey, it would be anbout America. And maybe she would have given Korea a try, but she was too scared that Korea wouldn’t be any different.

If she only went for trips, she could lie to herself and believe that Korea was her safe haven, where kids her age would like her if they ever met her. And if she went and she didn’t fit, her safe haven would crumble. 

And she couldn’t handle that. Because it would confirm the fact she kept avoiding: at the end of the day, it wasn’t Korea or America that did this

It was just her.

Her voice came out practiced. Fake. Lies. So that maybe nobody would yell tonight.

“I just lost track of time. Honest!” Zoey held up her hands, but she could see that nobody was amused.

She pulled away from Savannah after that, and Savannah let her. Why wouldn’t she? After all, who wanted to be friends with a spaz?

She went back to the bleachers where she belonged, and she threw rocks at the gym wall until a janitor found her and yelled at her.

Savannah had been everything. Zoey kept wondering where she screwed it all up. She thought she’d been a good friend. Every time Savannah walked into the room, Zoey felt a jump in her chest. She tried to be good. She tried so hard.

And it meant nothing.

The next time she saw her, she was walking with them. They all looked at her, but she looked only at Savannah, begging her like a pathetic loser: Don’t leave me alone like this.

“What are you looking at?” Savannah hissed. She flicked her foot, kicking Zoey’s notebook out of her hands. “Freak.”

She couldn’t even be surprised. She couldn’t let herself cry. She wouldn’t. Not in front of them.  She swiped her notebook off the ground and bolted. One foot after another dragging her away from them before they could do anything else. She sheltered in a janitor’s closet.

She was so tired of crying. But the lump in her chest bubbled up. She tried to swallow it down, and, inexplicably, it came out as a disturbing, strangled chuckle. 

Who even cares?

She let it keep going. She let herself laugh right at all of it. At them. At Savannah. At Eomma and Dad. But most of all?

She laughed at herself. A low, dark laugh meant to jab. “Unbelievable.” She scoffed at her own stupidity.

You really believed she was your friend, didn’t you?

Chapter Text

I think I’d rather meet Gwi Ma right now…

Zoey almost snickered at the thought. Not because it was an exaggeration, but because it might not have been. 

The closet wasn’t that small. A foot of space separated them as they were, with Zoey pressing herself into the wall with every shred of her strength, while Savannah stood against the other. Not quite leaning into it, but not straying from its security, either. 

Enough room to separate them, but Zoey felt like she was suffocating under all the things that were slammed between them. Too many things that made Zoey crave for an ocean to separate them once again.

So…” Savannah finally broke the silence that had settled between them. “How… was Korea?”

“Good.” Zoey said, her jaw clenched. “How was Burbank?”

“Good.” 

“Good.” Zoey echoed. She glanced at her watch: 11:22

She couldn’t wait for 11:29.

“Listen… I-“ Savannah cut herself off, “I really missed you, this year. Sorry… I shouldn’t have ditched you.”

‘Missed you.’

‘Sorry.’

What Zoey wouldn’t have given to hear those words a year ago wasn’t even worthy of being called a list.

She looked at Savannah, but she couldn’t speak. She thought that if she opened her mouth she would break down. And she couldn’t do that right now.

“I just… I was a coward. I just… I didn’t know what to do. I got scared. And it was easier to be mean than it was to admit—” Savannah cut her words short. Whatever she was thinking, Zoey was lost on it

Well? Spit it out!

Her impatience got the best of her; ”Admit what?”

At first, silence was the only answer. Then, it happened too fast for Zoey to even realize it was happening at all.

Savannah leaned forward.

And kissed her.

Zoey felt like she was in that bathroom stall again. Frozen, horrified of making a move. A violent shock zipped through her head in the form of too many questions:

What the actual- she’s gay? 

This is my first kiss.

What the why?

Why are you doing this?

What the fuck????

Did you-do you like me??

Then why did you abandon me?

Why did you bully me?

Why are you doing this now?

Why are you doing this at all? Get the hell-

“Get the fuck off me!” Zoey yelled as her hands found Savannah’s shoulders. She shoved her—hard. Savannah staggered back, catching herself only against the opposite wall as coat hangers clanged against each other.

Her eyes were wide with regret. “G-God, Uh… Zoey, I’m s-“

Why did I walk in here? What did I expect? 

I’m such an idiot.

“…Why?” Was all Zoey could say. 

“I don’t know… alcohol?” Savannah tossed her hands up in confusion, her voice pitching high, but Zoey only shook her head.

“No. Just... what the actual hell is wrong with you? Why are you doing this? Is this some sick joke? Another prank?” She couldn’t let her anger go, and the more she thought the more she needed words to get out of her head. “I’m so dumb. I never should have come.” She scoffed at herself, almost impressed at how sheer my stupid this had been. How stupid she was still being.

She should have shut up and walked, but more words demanded saying. They spilled out like water from a collapsed dam: “You… You were everything to me. You were my friend. And then you went and… I heard you. I heard what you said to Sarah. You called me a spaz, wished you’d never talked to me.”

“I’m so s-“

“You abandoned me. You kicked my notebooks, called me a freak, shoved me into the creek, threw my stuff in the creek. You made fun of the my clothes. You shoved me down the stairs, broke my nose.” Zoey swallowed. Back off, tears! You’re not doing this to me now!

“And now you kiss me?”

Whatever confidence she had to speak faltered, and she found herself again craving the idea that the wall might swallow her. She willed herself to speak. 

There was no confidence in her words anymore. Only a broken pitch that spoke of deep wounds left to fester. 

“You acted like you hated me.” She finally forced out. “Why di—”

“I never hated you.” Savannah said. The words hit like acid in her ears.

“Then why?” Zoey asked. “How could you be such a monster!” Her heart pounded. “You were my friend! Was I ever yours?”

“I-“

Zoey waved her hand, “You know what? Forget it. I don’t even want to know. I don’t care.”

”Zoey, pleas—”

Zoey barely even registered the outside world. Her hand flew up and caught Savannah’s collar. “No.”

The word landed like venom, and more followed in a heartbeat.

“You ruined everything. You were the one good thing that happened to me in that stupid school. And then you fucking stomped on me. And now you want… what? A relationship? Do you feel that brave all of a sudden?”

What am I doing? This isn’t me.

I’m not her. I’m not a monster. 

Her hold on the collar slipped, defeated by better judgement. Savannah was in tears, her hands shaking at her sides. Fingers twiddling with regret and shame.

“I can’t be here.” Her voice felt meek. Too meek. She felt like someone else. She wasn’t Zoey, the girl who’d just come home from Korea. Not the girl who fought demons and had her hunters by her side. She could feel her mind slipping backwards in time. Back to the kid who got kicked into railings, and shoved into creeks. Little Zoey Reed. Freak. Nerd.

Spaz.

“Zoey, wait! Please, I’m sorry. I was scared. I know I fucked up so bad. I still like you. I don’t want to lose you forever.”

”Please just stop.” Zoey groaned. Her head pounded, begging for relief from the senses that both didn’t register in her head and rattled it out of reason. Everything was too much to sense. The way the music in the other room shook the walls and floor, the wafting stench of alcohol floating in the air. It all floated in and out of focus.

“C’mon, Zoey. We start highschool next year, we could start over. I need to make this right.”

“Ha!” She didn’t mean to let out the laugh, but her nerves were too fried to control anything anymore. It snapped through her thoughts and brought Zoey’s mind back into her head. “Make it right? I’m not even staying!”

”What?” 

”I’m living in Korea now. Not Burbank.” It was the first time she’d said it aloud. And the moment she did so she knew in her heart that it didn’t matter how that talk with Dad went. She wasn’t coming back in August. She wasn’t the freak anymore. She wasn’t the spaz.

“And… you know, that was a really hard choice. But then I remembered Hunter. Sarah. Milo. Evelyn.”

Savannah froze.

“And you.” It was barely even a whisper, those two words almost too heavy to heave out of her.

”They all treated me like shit. Ruined my stuff, my clothes. But you?” Tears were in her eyes now. “You ruined me.” Her hand found the door to the closet. “And remembering that made Korea the easiest choice I’ve ever made.”

Zoey turned to leave, but more words demanded their statement, so she glanced back again. “I don’t care if you’re gay—or bi—whatever the hell you are. Good for you. Find yourself.”

She took a shaky breath in. “I… just hope that when you do, you find someone better.”

She didn’t check the time. Based on the groans given when she shoved the closet door open, it definitely wasn’t quite seven minutes, but she didn’t care. It felt like seven hours in that box, so, really, it was a compromise. None of them mattered to her anyway.

She’d hidden under guilt, sadness and insecurity, but now that she’d had the year to sit away from the mess, nudging things aside, she’s started to realize that above all else she was just so angry. She hated all of them.

Now, she had said what she wanted to one of them. She could leave. She didn’t need to say anything else.

“Hey, where’re you going?” Sarah called out. “Zo?”

“Don’t call me that.” Zoey turned, and her seconds-old conclusion died. If this was how Mira felt before she screamed at Celine, then no wonder Zoey couldn’t stop her.

Fuck not making a scene. Fuck all of it. “Don’t pretend that we’re friends. Don’t pretend you—all of you—didn’t make my life a living hell!”

She raised her gaze to see Savannah, who had started to cry. Zoey wanted to laugh again. Just get the hell out of here. Fast, clear, and leave. “I hope I never see any of you ever again.”

And she left. Walked out the door without another word. She knew they’d mock her for the outburst. But she didn’t care. They weren’t her friends.

She pulled out her phone and texted her dad

Dad

Dw abt the ride, I’m walking home.

Also I owe you 5 bucks

There was alcohol there

No, I didn’t drink any

can tell by your ability to spell that you didn’t drink, LOL

Are you sure you don’t want a ride?

It’s like 10 blocks. It’s fine

Be home soon

She didn’t wait for him to respond. She’d wandered alone at night before plenty of times. Her dad didn’t know about that, but how would he have? He was always too busy arguing with Eomma anyway.

She switched to Mira’s contact. She didn’t even think about whether the time was appropriate in Korea. She pressed call without thought.

And Mira, ever her lifeline, answered in barely a single ring.

“Zoey?! What happened?!”

“I-“ Zoey took a breath. “If I start crying don’t worry. I-a lot happened, and I might cry. But I’m okay.”

She heard Mira call for Rumi, and in an instant she heard both their voices, “Tell us everything, Zo.”

So she did. She told them all about Savannah and the 7 Minutes in Heaven, where ‘heaven’ meant spilling her guts to her old enemies for not quite seven minutes.

So, essentially, for the entire thirty minute walk home, Zoey spilled her guts about how she’d just spilled her guts.

The entire time, Rumi and Mira were angels from across the world. Reassuring her, getting angry on her behalf.

”She kissed you?”

”The fucking nerve-“

Mira asked Rumi at one point if they could use the Honmoon to “kill a bitch in Burbank.” Even more surprisingly, Rumi genuinely considered the question.

They were still on the phone as she slid her hand over the doorknob and twisted it. She walked inside, quickly seeing her dad’s eyes flick over to her curiously.

“야, 나 가봐야 해. 나중에 얘기할 수 있을까?” [Hey, I have to go. Can we talk later?]

Rumi and Mira quickly agreed and said goodbye.

두 분 다 사랑해요. 곧 집에 가고 싶어요.” [I love you both. I want to go home soon].

The line clicked, and Zoey lowered the phone. She glanced over at her dad, immediately noticing the tension in his shoulders.

Why is he upset?

“That your mom?”

Ah, of course that’s why. I must be out of practice.

“Rumi and Mira.” She explained, holding the phone up. She could see her dad relax a little. She sat down in the rocking chair beside the couch. 

“How was the party?”

Horrible.

Awful.

I wish I hadn’t gone.

Actually…

“Cathartic.” Zoey replied as she kicked off her shoes. The next words to come out of her mouth were the result of a questionable decision at best. A decision based solely on the high of telling off a bunch of tipsy fifteen year-olds.

“Listen, Dad. I gotta talk to you about something.

“Sure, what’s up?”

Okay. This is it. No backing out.

“So…” The high was dying. The word dragged out of her mouth and trailed off with nothing to follow it.

Hey, I said no backing out!

She cleared her throat. “You know how… months back, when I went to visit Korea, I went to that audition?”

“Yeah.”

“I… uh… I told you that it went nowhere, but that I had wanted to stay in Korea a while longer, go to school for that year there.” She took a deep breath in.

“I sorta… lied.” She clenched and unclenched her fist. “I got chosen, and I’ve been training to become a singer. Oh! I’m still doing school, it’s this special school through Sunlight, so don’t worry about… oh jeez…”

She looked at her dad, whose face hadn’t moved at all. “Please say something.”

Her dad cleared his throat, his movements too stiff, too thoughtful. “Zoey, I know you like music and all, but this idol stuff—“ His tone already told her what he’d say; this idol stuff just isn’t a real future, you shouldn't be putting your faith in it.

“No, Dad, you don’t understand. This is real.” Zoey pushed. “It’s like, really, really real. And I want to do it. I begged Eomma for this.”

“Zoey I just—“ Her words must have sunk deeper, because his face twisted with hurt. “Your mother knew?”

Crap.

”Dad, listen—“

“She had no right to lie about-“

“This isn’t about her! God will you just listen? I want this! Is she so terrible for letting me follow my dream?”

“You’re my daughter. I should know whether you’re at some singer boot camp—“

”I wanted to tell you, but you would have said no!”

”Of course I would have said no!”

”Dad, I want this so badly!” She yelled. “This is everything to me! Can’t you see that?”

He shook his head. “But what about all your friends here? Your life here? This is your home, Zoey, do you really want to leave it?”

She tried so hard not to cry. Feelings began to bubble up—ones that she’d rather have shoved beneath the bottom of the ocean. 

“What friends, Dad?” Her voice broke over the words. I’m not going to cry. I’m so not going to cry.

”But, from the party-”

“They aren’t my friends. They used to-“ Her jaw closed on instinct. “They were jerks. But—Gah!—this isn’t about them! I just…” She took a long breath, trying to refocus.

“Dad, look. I love you. So, so much. You’re the best dad I could’ve-”

“Then why do you want to leave?” He asked, tears in his eyes. “If I was a better father, you wouldn’t need to flee the country to be ha-“

That’s not why!

Why is it always—

“It’s not about you!” Zoey screamed. The walls shook against her voice before the house fell silent. It was suffocating, like decades old boxes of rot and dust had finally been torn open and dumped onto the floor with no care.

It filled the room while she worked up the guts to breathe it back in and finally spit it out. “This was never about you, It’s about me! Can’t anything just be about me?”

Her breath felt shaky as she tried to calm down. She didn’t want it to become a fight. She didn’t want to make him cry.

Too late on that count.

“This isn’t about you.” She repeated, quieter now. It felt like if she spoke too loudly now the walls would flinch in fear.

”I love music, and I’ve always wanted to pursue that-“

“You could pursue music here, in a world you already know.”

“Someone in Korea already wants me. The opportunity is there, not here.”

“I never should have let you audition. That’s what started all of this.” He stood up, pacing the floor. “This is all your mother’s fault. Shoving Korea down your throat your whole life.”

She sat there, trying desperately to find the words. She finally did, “Why do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

She’d written the answer to this before. In a notebook somewhere in her room. Proba—Definitely more than once.

“Twist my life into yours.” She rubbed her palms into her knees. “If I speak Korean or like Korean food you cringe.”

“I didn’t cri-“

“You hated it every time I expressed that half of myself. And I know it wasn’t just you. Eomma cringed whenever I was too American.” She put her hands on the table, about to stand up, but the way her kneecaps felt like liquid made her doubt she could.

“I tried so hard to be enough of both to make you happy. All I’ve ever done was try to make you two happy.”

“You didn’t have to make us happy.”

“Didn’t I, though?” She spat the words. “Do you even realize how careful I had to be not to make you and Eomma fight?” 

Memories of pillows mashed over her ears, music reverberating off the walls so she couldn’t hear the undercurrent of yelling. A house with eggshell floors and walls too thin.

”I can’t be peacemaker anymore. I’m so sick and tired of shoving myself under the rug so that nobody gets mad. I’m tired, Dad.”

“Zoey-“

”I’m not done.” She cut him off. “I’m so not done.”

“I couldn’t tell anyone how I was feeling. When kids were mean, I couldn’t tell you, because you’d start a fight. When I was excited to go to Korea, I couldn’t tell Eomma because she would start a fight. You only fought over me. And I never wanted you to fight over me. I tried to be perfect so that you wouldn’t get divorced.”

That word again. That dark word that she’d lobbed into her life like a grenade only one year ago. A year of life-changing everything, and mere days being back undid all of the good it did for her. The air started to turn to water. “I didn’t want you to get divorced but then I went and said it and I can’t keep doing it Dad I can’t, I can’t, I just can’t do it!” Invisible waves shoved her away from air. Her vision blurred. All she felt was a hand clawing at her chest.

“Zoey?” A muffled voice came from somewhere. The world was shaking and spinning on its side. Hands grabbing at her. Get off.

She shoved them away. Stop it, stop it!

C’mon brain, calm do-

Get the hell off of me! 

Pain exploded in her temple, the throbbing seemed to drag her back into reality. A voice echoed, resonating with the throb. A groan from somewhere else.

The house floated back into her view. The ceiling was the wall. Dad?

Oh… so that’s what happened.

She sat up. “Ow…” She rubbed her head. 

“Zoey, are you okay, was that a panic attack? I didn’t know those were happening agai-“

“They’re not.” She wheezed. Her chest still felt tight. Too tight. Her hands were wrought with tremors. Her breathing was still too short.

Okay, okay everything’s okay, just breathe. Make sure you breathe…

“D-dad? I c-can’t be in this house.” She struggled to say the words. 

Breathe in, slow.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Breathe out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Okay. Okay. I can do this.

“I’m okay.” She said. She didn’t quite feel like that yet, but she’d get there. “I just… I just got worked up.”

“This is why you shouldn’t stay in Korea, Zosters. Your anxiety’s just going to skyro-“

Zoey held up a hand. “I don’t have panic attacks when I’m in Korea.”

Silence.

“I only ever got them here. At school, or in this house. I tried so hard. It wasn’t enough for anyone, it was too much for everyone. But with Rumi? And Mira? I’m just… me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Zoey, you’re young, and I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“You aren’t hearing me.” Zoey felt an animal’s growl roll out under her voice. “I swear to God, Dad, if you try to take me away from the only two people who have seen me—the real me—and loved me anyway, I will fight you tooth and nail. And I don’t wanna fight you.” Her voice broke over the words.

“Please, don’t make me fight you for this.”

Chapter Text

Mira held her phone a little too tightly as Zoey hung up. “She’s okay.”

Rumi’s hands were clenched around her kneecaps. Shoulders tenser than shoulders were ever meant to be. “I made a promise.” She muttered. “and I broke it.”

“What do you mean?”

Rumi’s eyes flicked toward Mira in momentary surprise, like she’d forgotten anyone else was there. 

“Nothing.”

”Hey, talk to me.”

I shouldn’t push her.

”It’s fine. She’s fine.”

Mira opened her mouth to do the wrong thing. And she would have done so with no hesitation if it weren’t for the sharp tapping against the door. The interruption cut her off before she could make the mistake.

”Come in.” Rumi answered. She shot Mira a glance, and Mira knew all too well what it meant: Don’t push me. She herself had fired it a million times before.

The look was gone before Celine even began to open the door. But then the door was open, and any chance for a retort died on her tongue.

“I have to head into the office. Don’t forget about patrols. Rumi, you’ll take the north sweep, just the three-mile route, there was a rockslide in the area so it’ll be harder to navigate. Mira, you take the west four-mile route. I’ll cover the rest when I come back.”

“Yes, Celine.”

The door slid back shut, and Mira’s eyes slipped from the door back to Rumi.

If I push she’ll shut down.

I wish Zoey was here. She’s better at this.

Maybe a minute to breathe would help them both. At least, she hoped.

. . . . . . . . . .

Nothing ever happened on patrol. Aside from Mira still searching for the weird fauna, she barely even knew what she was looking for. Maybe it was just another training. Maybe someday they would have to patrol, even if right now it was safe.

By the time she got back to the hanok, there was no sign of Rumi. Mira didn’t think too hard on it, given what Celine had said about the route. Still, she decided to wait on the porch.

I’ll apologize for pushing so hard. 

She sat for five minutes.

Then ten.

Fifteen.

Twenty.

Then she felt it. That same, horrible feeling that struck like a train at full speed. The cry of the Honmoon. 

Rumi! She was on her feet and moving so fast she nearly stumbled forward. Fuck! Where is it?

In her panic, Mira’s mind chose a direction, and she bolted toward it with all the reason of a headless chicken. She stumbled into the forest, feet catching on roots and shrubs while thorns dug into her pants, trying to hold her back. She trampled the shrubs and ripped through the thorns. Her mind was locked onto Rumi. She could feel her. She was this way. She knew it.

And then she heard the sounds.

Not the sound of demons.

Not the sound of battle.

She heard grunts labored with pain. 

The uneven stagger of footsteps. 

“Rumi!” Mira staggered past a few more trees when she caught sight of the purple braid. Mira rushed over. “Shit, are you okay?”

Rumi nodded with a grimace. “Yeah… they just… got me kinda good.”

“Where?”

“Leg…” Rumi muttered. Mira pulled Rumi’s arm over her shoulder and helped her walk to a nearby rock. She sat Rumi down onto it and gently pulled up the leg of her sweatpants. A deep gash ran along her calf, red already running to her ankle, forging a terrible river. “Fuck… Rumi.”

“It’s okay, I can still wal-”

“You are not walking on this!” Mira looked up at her, but her eyes caught something else.

Rumi’s neck.

How did I miss that?

Rumi shook her head “Mira it’s fi-”

She reached out, her fingers barely touching skin as she traced it. A horrible sense of terror swelled under Mira’s skin.

The cut was shallow.

Not dangerous. 

It was superficial. Minor.

It wouldn’t even scar.

But it was on her neck.

What if it what been just a little deeper?

Arteries rest too small a distance below the skin of the neck. Too close. 

I wasn’t here.

This was too close.

“M-Mira?”

“You almost died.” Mira’s voice felt wrong in her mouth. Her voice was deeper than this. Why did it sound so sharp to her ears? “You could have died and I wasn’t here!” 

“Mira, I’m oka-”

”You almost weren’t!” 

She didn’t mean to scream. She didn’t mean to freak out. She didn’t mean to slam her fist into a tree or make Rumi flinch.

She was just trying to calm down. Trying to be rational. Rumi’s okay.

She’s okay

These wounds aren’t like… serious.

But arteries are centimeters below the surface. Centimeters. A distance comparable to the width of her finger. Rumi was centimeters from death. The width of her finger was the difference. The difference between this and Mira finding her bleeding out with no way to stop it.

Centimeters from the worst kind of nightmare—a waking one that didn’t end. A true terror that didn’t cease with the cutting sound of an alarm. Centimeters from losing half her soul while the other half was across the world. 

“Mira!”

The world was shaking. No—she was shaking. Still no—something was shaking her. It touched her shoulder. Mira reached up to grab it. Her fingers ran along and wrapped around something. Skin? A person? 

her fingers dragged along the skin, desperate for the world to come back. She felt a hand on her cheek. The world was slowly trickling back in. Green and brown surrounded her, the monotony of it broken up by the thick purple hair framing a terrified face. With a bleeding neck.

”Mira, Mira, what’s going on? Are you-”

Her breath finally started working. She hadn’t even realized she wasn’t breathing, but the way her chest screamed and shrieked for air confirmed to her that she must’ve.

”Sorry…” She mumbled. “That wasn’t… Fuck.” She stood up—when did she end up on the ground? She slid Rumi’s arm back around her shoulder before she swept her own under Rumi, sweeping her up and carrying her bridal-style.

“Oh for God’s sake put me down! What is going on?”

Mira glared at her. “My legs are fine. Let’s go.”

Rumi started to struggle, but Mira was at her wits end. “For fuck’s sake, for once will you just let me fucking help you!?”

The silence stretched long as neither of them knew how to react. Zoey wasn’t here to undercut the tension. She wasn’t here to change the subject or be the bridge between two stubbornly immovable forces.

She couldn’t be immovable. She couldn’t be stoic because Rumi never accepted stoicism. Or help. Or anything at all unless she thought it would help whoever was offering it.

”Rumi… please. Just… Do this for me?” She let her voice slip to that foreign pitch.

A beg. A desperate, pathetic beg.

And it broke Rumi. The girl’s face melted, and her body loosened. “Fine.”

Mira told herself it was just because it was the only way to make Rumi relent. Just another trick to manage Rumi’s more frustrating quirks. 

But the way her heart only calmed down after he friend surrendered to the help told her she was lying. The way her entire body relaxed as they continued on told her she really did need this. She couldn’t let Rumi walk right now.

She couldn’t bear to see Rumi stagger with each step, couldn’t bear to hear whatever lie the lavender-haired girl came up with. And most of all, the thought of seeing Rumi collapse was too much.

She’d seen it before, and her insides twisted and fell every time. It was like knives stabbed into her, pinning her in place for far too long before she was able to move. But exhaustion was one thing.

This was injury.

This was damage that was intended to kill. And Mira couldn’t handle any indication that there was a probability of the demons’ success.

Did Rumi even notice it? How close she just was to death?

The walk back was silent. Neither of them knew what to say. Mira didn’t dare to open her mouth for fear that anything she said would make Rumi wriggle out of her grasp, insisting on some stupid, masochistic show of self-sufficiency.

By the time they returned, Celine rushed over. “What did you do?” Celine murmured. Her voice was almost harsh, and Mira’s jaw tightened. Don’t make me scream at you again. I will do it. 

Then Rumi shook her head. “Just a scratch on my leg.

“It’s a gash. She has another cut on her neck.” Mira corrected.

”I barely even noticed it.” Rumi muttered.

”Neck wounds aren’t something you should barely notice!”  Mira hissed back.

”Both of you, quit it.” Celine’s words struck like a gavel declaring the verdict—this argument was over. “I assume the Honmoon was fixed?”

Rumi nodded. “I managed fine.”

“Come on, let’s get you stitched up.” Celine said. She leaned down, and Mira could see her saying something, but she couldn’t hear. Rumi shook her head in response. “Mira, have you had medical training?”

“No.” 

“Then you should come with. Injuries happen, so, best you learn sooner rather than later.”

Mira nodded and followed. Whether Celine had told her to or not she wasn’t walking away. She shoved down every urge to say the words already threatening to leap out of her throat before she could hold them down: by the way, genius? If it needs stitches, it’s not nothing.

Get a grip. This didn’t have to be a fight.

Why do I always make it a fight?

Zoey wouldn’t have been so stupid. What would she have done? 

She would’ve made it better. Somehow. Would’ve made it easier. 

Zoey would have done it better. 

If she was here. But she wasn’t. And she wouldn’t be for eleven more days. And now Rumi was injured, which meant she was going to be even more difficult to handle.

Rumi sat down on the edge of the bathtub while Celine grabbed the medical kit from under the sink. With expert hands, she threaded the stitch through the needle hole. She showed Mira the knots to tie, and then she held the needle still in the air. 

“Hold her hand.” Celine said evenly.

Mira held her hand out for Rumi, and the girl stared at it for a moment. She slowly reached out her own and laid her palm against Mira’s. The hold stayed stiff and uncomfortable, with neither of them sure of how to adjust. But when the needle went though the edge of the wound, Rumi winced, her fingers twitching involuntarily around Mira’s. Mira curled her fingers around the back of Rumi’s hand.

The needle went in again. Another wince. Their eyes met as another jolted its way across Rumi’s face. Mira rubbed her fingers against the girl’s hand, holding the gaze. She hoped it distracted Rumi from the pain, at least a little.

She knew she was supposed to be watching Celine give the stitches. But she refused to leave Rumi to her own mind. For as long as she could hold her gaze, she would. Because she also knew that—even if Rumi never admitted openly to it—there was a darkness in her. And that darkness could consume her if she was left alone with it for too long.

Mira wouldn’t let it. 

So, she held her gaze on Rumi. And Rumi held it back. And there between them, in that gaze, an invisible conversation took place:

A silent apology, and an even quieter thank you.

Chapter Text

Rumi swung her saingeom again. The blade arched through the air and dug into the throat of the last dummy standing. As it fell, Rumi swayed, barely catching herself. She swiped away the layer of sweat that clung to her arm. The little drips flicked off and caught the glare of the sun, shimmering before they struck the ground.

No matter how much sweat she scrubbed off, more replaced it. Her mind was barely focused on the disaster of shredded dummies she’d created all around her. The saingeom melted into the Honmoon as she fell to her knees, unable to catch herself twice. Her lungs screamed greedily for air no matter how much she gave them.

Still, the scream of every muscle in her body gave her a numb comfort. She couldn’t focus on how much she missed Zoey when she could barely keep her head upright. She couldn’t worry about whether Celine was disappointed if she literally had nothing more to give. It was a thick fog that blinded her from everything she didn’t want to feel.

Then there was a hand on her shoulder. She glanced up, expecting to see Mira. Expecting her eyes to say “You seriously need to stop this” while her mouth said the same thing in more subtle words. 

But the feeling of a ring against her skin instantly told her none of that would be the case. 

“Can you stand?” Celine asked.

Rumi tensed. The answer was no. But it should never be no. If the answer was ever no, it meant she had a limit. It meant that demons could wear her out. If they could wear her out, they could wound her. Or, even worse, they could hurt Mira and Zoey.

She nodded, and forced her feet underneath her. The moment her knees straightened, they buckled in rebellion. Celine caught her, pulling Rumi tight to her side.

”Okay… there we go.”

I can stand. I have to.

Faults and fears must never be seen.

Why? Why can’t they be seen? Why can’t Mira and Zoey see it when I’m scared? Why can’t they know it when I’m upset?

Because they can’t be seen.

Why not? I want to see them! Doesn’t that mean they want to see me, too?

“Why can’t they just know?” Rumi murmured. “What if-“

“Rumi, they can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

She almost cried. She almost gave into the weight in her chest and let it shatter the emotional dam she built so efficiently.

Why not? Why can’t they know?

“But—”

But she couldn’t. Even if she had the words to argue, she didn’t have the strength to say any of them right now.

Besides… Celine was right. It was dangerous. It was dangerous enough with how closely she’d held onto them.

“I know.”

She took her indulgence in that closeness as what it was: A misstep. A selfish, impulsive misstep. She was never supposed to let them in like that. She’d messed up. And now keeping them at bay was only harder as a result.

Stupid Rumi.

“It’s for the best. One day, you girls will turn the Honmoon golden. And they’ll be gone.” Celine breathed the words into her ear gently. “You’ll be free of them.” There was so much love in that whisper, but Rumi knew it wasn’t for her.

That love was reserved for Patternless Rumi. And she didn’t exist yet. 

She braced her palms against the porch, psyching herself up. Each and every muscle still cried as they twisted in opposition. She pushed herself to her feet, her knees holding her through sheer force of will.

“Will it be different? Once they’re gone?” Rumi stared at the boards of the porch as she asked the question, low under her breath.

Celine cupped Rumi’s cheek in her hand, “Everything. Everything will be different.” She said with a rare, warm smile.

That should have made her happy. Those words fully painted the light at the end of the tunnel that was her life. She should be invigorated to sprint towards it. Instead, the sick ache in her chest sucked away all the light.

Because that warmth, that smile, it still wasn’t meant for her.

She nodded and slipped into the hanok. The moment she stepped inside, the sizzle of hot oil crackled satisfyingly in her ears. The earthy smell of rice and chicken and a particular sauce Mira always made with it told Rumi it was bibimbap. She could already feel her mouth watering as she glanced over to confirm what she already knew: Mira was cooking. 

Mira looked to her, a carefully subtle look of concern in her eyes. “Feel any better?”

She wanted to shake her head. She felt no better. She might have felt even worse this time.

She nodded.

Mira returned the nod, but the concern didn’t fade—it never did—as she turned her attention back to the pan “It’s not gonna be as good as yours, but, it’ll be edible.” She said with a shrug.

Rumi wanted to smile. Wanted to say ‘I love your cooking, it’ll be great.’ Maybe even walk over and join her. She loved cooking with Mira. It was one of the things they found a communal joy in. They would come up with recipes and play with them, seeing how a little more of this or a little less of that changed up the taste.

It wasn’t Zoey’s forte, but nevertheless the raven-haired spring would still bounce around them, never too far. And all the while she’d be offering outlandish ideas and cursed recipes that, surprisingly, worked out a little too well. 

The thought of Zoey reminded her of the rift that was still begging to be filled. Its hollowness fit in too well with the numbness.

They mixed into a sick, indescribable void that took up too much space, but stung when she tried to replace it with any other feeling. So instead, she trained to numb it further. Harder and harder until her knees gave away.

She took a couple steps, and black washed over her, flooding out her vision and deleting every sensation. She was barely existing.

She couldn’t sense them, but she knew her knees were buckling again. She couldn’t feel it, but she knew she had grabbed the edge of the table to catch herself. She held herself there as the ringing stopped and her nerves woke back up. 

“Sorry, just tripped.” She said with a small chuckle. “My bad.” Her vision finally returned, and Mira was half turned, concern back on her face. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be in the shower.” She took a few careful steps, but aside from the agony still in her arms and legs, she was fine again. Like the wave that had just threatened to drown her into the floor had never even existed.

She walked into the bathroom and latched the door. She peeled away the fabrics, glued to her skin by sweat and grime.

She cranked the water’s temperature up and up, testing it until it just barely burned. The slight scald made her nerves scream right along with her muscles, but she didn’t care. She leaned into the agony, and in return it filled her mind back up with the fog.

It wasn’t the numbness she was used to; that thick, leadlike weight that hung over her all day long, even if she slept well the night before. This emptiness was blissful and silent, save for the overcurrent of burning across her skin.

She reached for the ttaesugeon a scrubbed away the sweat. Until now, she’d managed to keep her eyes off her right arm, but as she swiped the towel over it, the patterns took hold of her gaze and refused to let go. 

They were still small. Truthfully, they’d barely grown at all. Still just a few small tendrils that didn’t dare climb any further up her shoulder. Instead, they ringed around her upper arm, crawling inward beneath her clavicle, threatening her chest. A panicked thought questioned what would happen if the patterns seized her heart. 

What if that was all the time she had left? What if at some point her demon side would overtake her?

“No. I’m not letting that happen.” She whispered at the patterns. “I’m getting rid of you. I hate you.”

She ran the ttaesugeon over them, the rough scraping feeling a little more cleansing. She went back over them. Again and again. The water burned hotter there. 

She wasn’t thinking.

She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and mercilessly raked it across her skin. Over and over again on her arm until the pain was finally too much to bear.

She stumbled out of the stream and went to wrap her hand around her arm, but the spot screamed in opposition. She stared at it. The redness jarred her. Skin shouldn’t be that red.

Skin shouldn’t have patterns, either.

She touched one finger over it, feeling a slimy layer that couldn’t have been from the water, and didn’t feel like sweat. 

What did you do?

Why did you do that?

What are you, some kind of freak?

Are you trying to flay yourself alive?

The thoughts grew louder and louder. She turned the water temp up higher. The burn worsened. Skin screamed under the sear. Steam clouded the room so thickly. The fog in her mind was now physical, and no less blinding.

But the burn brought an inner clarity that managed to restore the bliss. It hurt—so badly. But it soothed her, overwhelming her thoughts and burning them to crisps before she could think them. 

When she finally turned the water off, there wasn’t a single surface that didn’t sting with heat. There wasn’t a single muscle that didn’t ache. She had never been in a more consistent state of physical pain. Every bit of her remembered the burn of the water.

The air remembered too. As she looked into the mirror, a blur looked back. She swiped her hand over the glass, revealing an human-shaped thing with angry red skin and strands of purple hair sticking to it.

But at least the eyes in that mirror looked like maybe they weren’t always thinking. The mind was quiet… mostly. 

I can’t ever do that again. She thought as she glanced back at her arm. She’d seen this before. A brush burn. That’s all it was, albeit a pretty thorough one. No big deal.

But the way little dots of red rose up told her she couldn’t lie to herself. She’d crossed a line into something very dangerous. She’d found the first bone of an entirely new skeleton to add to her closet.

She vowed to herself right there and then that this would not be yet another fault. She wouldn’t build that skeleton.

It didn’t occur to her that the skeleton was already built and sat, waiting for discovery. Her habits of scalding water and working herself into collapse had long ago assembled it. All of it was meant to silence her mind, to punish herself for those jagged streaks that dug into her skin and soul.

She pulled a towel into her embrace, scrubbing the water from her, though she did so more gently than before. The sting was still there, and her nerves were more than happy to remind her if she was too harsh.

She didn’t attempt to dry the brush burn, and instead she wrapped a single bandage over the area and bluntly decided she would forget it ever existed.

Once she wrapped herself up, she slipped out of the bathroom and into the safety of her bedroom. Only after the door was latched could the towel slip off.

She spent the next twenty minutes actively removing water from her hair. She knew she wasn’t going to bother braiding it. She worked vigorously until only dampness, and not drips, clung to the purple strands.

Next, she pulled clothes over her body until all she needed was a shirt. She quickly settled on a hoodie, double-checking to make sure it covered everything.

As she walked back out into the hallway, she felt… well, she wasn’t sure. She felt cleaner, but not quite clean. Better, but not quite good. She rounded the corner to the kitchen to see three bowls set on the counter.

One bowl too few.

Mira was sitting down beside Celine, both of whom had been waiting for her. She slid into the chair, and they dug in. It was delicious, just like she’d thought it would be. “It’s really good, Mir.” She smiled—a genuine one, finally.

“It’s nothin’.” Mira murmured, but Rumi could see the appreciation flicker in her eyes and play across her lips before it was banished by a quick change in subject.

“So, Zoey comes home tomorrow?” Mira asked

Celine nodded. “Their flight should arrive at 2 o’clock. My best guess is we’ll be home before 5, assuming the worst. So, make sure you have all the training stuff put away before then.”

Rumi glanced at the clock. Less than twenty-four hours. Her heart jumped, and she could tell Mira felt the same.

“We have to buy her more cereal.” Rumi said with a small smile. “I can’t wait to see her again.”

She really couldn’t. When Zoey had told them about the party, Rumi had half a mind to fly to Burbank right then and there. She was livid at everyone for what she’d gone through. She was angry at the kids who’d hurt her. She was angry at the school administrators who had failed her. Her parents who hadn’t helped. 

But all that anger didn’t quite belong on them. Most of all, Rumi was angry at herself. She was the one who told Zoey to go. She put Zoey into that closet. She put Zoey through that.

And she didn’t know if Zoey would forgive her for it.

She knew she wouldn’t forgive herself.

. . . . . . . . . .

The next day crawled. It was as though time wanted to torture them. Evil. Evil torture.

Breakfast took too long to cook. Training took too long to do. Cleaning failed to move the hands that were all but stationary on that foul clock.

Rumi felt like a madwoman with how many times she could glance at that clock in a minute. She was relieved to have work to do, though. The week before, Mira had shown Rumi a text:

Zoey

Hey, so… my dad’s kinda coming back with me?

We talked and he was like “Ok, I need to see the place.” 

So… could you guys… like… hide the swords, dummies and stuff?

Make it look… not demon huntery?

Aye aye cap. On it

 🫡

Packing it all away kept her busy. For a little while, at least. Not nearly long enough. After they finished packing all the training supplies into boxes, they carried them down into the basement. Before they knew it, only a couple more boxes sat waiting to for hiding.

“I’ve got them.” Rumi said, stacking one of the boxes atop the other.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” She knelt down and quickly scooped them up. Mira stayed to watch her descend a few steps before turning and strolling off.

She set the boxes up on a shelf and jogged back up the stairs and went to find Mira. The girl was curled up on Zoey’s bed—they’d spent every night there. Without a word, Mira pulled the covers back for Rumi.

I can’t keep being so close. I can’t keep letting them in. 

They’ll see.

They’ll know.

While her mind buzzed with better judgement, she crawled into Mira’s embrace without hesitation. 

Bad Rumi.

She silently thanked whatever forces affected fate or the future that she wasn’t laying on her right side. Her shoulder still burned from yesterday. A reminder of yet another thing she really shouldn’t have done. Another overstep.

Another mistake.

This was too risky. Celine told her this, but she’d known it even before Celine said a word. 

It would only get riskier. The danger could only grow. It grew slowly, but surely. She couldn’t keep doing this.

What can I do?

I should pull away now. I should make it seem like nothing is wrong, and this is just how I am. That’s what I should do.

But nothing in her body was willing to let her tear herself away from Mira. And she knew it. This was a drug, and the high was too addictive for her to walk away.

It would only get riskier. But there must be time before it was “too risky.”

Maybe she could be addicted for just a little longer. She could soak up every drop of love they offered her until then. Then she could pull back. Put just enough distance for safety, and then she’d just have to survive on the scraps that fell far enough for her to reach. Just until the Honmoon turned gold.

She could do it.

She had to.

Suddenly, a feeling of warmth, like a fire raging in the darkness suddenly consumed her attention. She sat up, and from the way Mira did exactly the same, Rumi knew she felt it too. They knew who it was. The Honmoon echoed with every step she took, an echo that resonated in their hearts and stitched the chasms in their chests. She was out of the car. She was walking to the porch. 

Then, Rumi heard the familiar sound of the front door sliding open. Her thoughts were all but gone as she and Mira scrambled off the bed and ran down the hall.

“Zoey!” Rumi dodged around Celine and met Zoey’s gaze. For a second, Rumi stilled, wondering if she was allowed to hug her after what she’d done. Zoey answered the question before it could be asked. She dropped her suitcase, and as it struck the floor with a violent thud, Zoey’s arms wrapped around Rumi like she had no intention of ever letting go. Mira’s arms slid around the both of them.

“We missed you, dummy.” Mira said with a laugh. 

Their warmth was her home. She let herself lean into it. Let herself bask in the feeling that she was whole again. That they were whole again.

It’s not too risky yet.

I’ll soak it all up. For now.

Just until it’s too risky.

Chapter Text

Mira didn't want to let go of them. She wanted to stay with her arms wrapped around her girls for all eternity. But, eventually, convention drove them to each take a step back and look at the man standing awkwardly on the porch.

Zoey's father was someone who could definitely be very dangerous, if he wanted to be. He wasn't particularly tall, but he carried himself in a way that made him seem so. The way he looked at them at the doorstep, like he was squaring them up had made Mira's nerves tense. Was he gauging them, too? Probably. 

She didn't look away from his gaze. She met it and gave a stiff nod—her kindest, most professional greeting. He returned it, and Zoey quickly slashed through the tension by grabbing his hand and blabbering something in English.

Celine took a careful step inside, leaning down to whisper. "Everything's put away?"

"Basement. Door's locked, so even if he wants to go down there the boxes are all shut." Rumi replied under careful breaths.

Before Celine could respond, her phone rang. “Hello?”

A muffled voice came though, and Celine cursed quietly under her breath in response to what was definitely problematic news. “I’ll try to be quick. I promise.” She quickly moved to her office, leaving them to their devices.

“What do we do?” Rumi asked?

Celine glanced over at Zoey, who was still prattling off words to her father. “Just be there for her. Do what you can.”

Mira nodded as Celine stepped away. She and Rumi shared a glance. They rejoined Zoey, content to follow behind as she whipped through what Mira guessed was the tour like an auctioneer. She could only pick out “kitchen,” their names, and “japchae.”

Zoey’s father said something, his tone pitched in question.

"Yeah, yeah!" Zoey's head bobbed up and down with too much enthusiasm. Mira wondered if there wasn't a hint of panic fueling it. If there was any panic, she hid it well. Mira watched carefully, and she caught it as the smaller girl’s shoulders locked up mid-conversation. The way her hand reached up and fiddled with the collar of her shirt.

Ah-ha. Almost hid it well.

She couldn't blame Zoey for being anxious with her father here. She'd gone through something a little bit too similar not too long ago. Though, admittedly, Mira had been a little too preoccupied with the rage that came with them to focus on anxiety.

But, now that she thought about it, maybe Zoey took to anxiety the same way Mira took to anger. 

"So, I’m guessing, japchae for dinner?" She asked. She strode over to Zoey, casually laying her hand on the girl's shoulder. She gave her a little reassuring squeeze, and mouthed: Breathe. Zoey softened a little at it, leaning against Mira. She felt the younger girl’s breath stutter almost instantly into something calmer. Zoey gave her a nod, “All good.” She said with a soft smile.

She turned back to her father, excitement quickly overtaking the vulnerability.

"Japchae!" She cheered quietly, pumping her fists a little as she turned back to her father, her voice bubbled out—back in English. She grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hallway. Her voice was a twinge lower, the words came out a twinge slower now. The change was just enough to tell her that Zoey was just a little bit calmer. The pair disappeared around the corner of the hall, and Mira turned toward Rumi. "Welp, you heard her."

Rumi smiled and nodded, quickly slipping into systematic habit as she grabbed dishes. Together they diced up vegetables and added seasonings. They could hear the sweet prattling of Zoey's voice trickle in from the other rooms, growing in intensity as she rounded the corner. Mira tried to understand what she was saying, but she only caught fragments that couldn't quite be pieced together.

The poorly-hidden wince that  dashed across her father's face told Mira that whatever Zoey had said, it clearly didn't sit well with him. She almost snickered; he was definitely Zoey's father with how ineffectively he hid his emotions. Maybe it was hereditary, the way their faces gave away so much on reflex it was almost internal espionage. Or, maybe Mira had simply learned Zoey’s tells well enough to read her father’s.

Their conversation disappeared as Zoey guided her father out into the arena. Mira and Rumi cooked in sync. Rumi hummed a tune, realizing it was to a song Zoey had added to the playlist. a while ago.  

The door slid open just as Rumi finished boiling the dangmyeon. Zoey stepped in, "Hey, I'm going to take a shower—still coated in airplane gunk." She said as she strolled past the island.

"What is airplane gunk?" Rumi asked

"I think it's a conspiracy to make us use more shower water." Zoey joked with a shrug. Rumi only looked more confused. 

"Where's your father?" Mira asked

"Outside. I think he just needs some air... the talk didn't go, like... perfectly..." Zoey lowered her head. It was clear to Mira that she was still wracked with guilt over wanting to stay.

What can I say to her? What can I do?

Rumi answered the question for her. She walked over and slid her hand up Zoey's shoulder blade, resting it in the crook of her neck. "You did what you had to." Rumi said softly. "I know it must have been hard."

Zoey nodded, eyes shiny with the thought of tears, "Yeah. It really was."

"We’re happy you're back." Mira said softly, joining their sides. Zoey initiated it, but the speed at which they all gave into the hug exposed their communal desperation for it.

"We missed you so much." Rumi whispered.

"I missed you." Zoey breathed, and she melted into the embrace like she herself was turning to liquid. When she finally peeled away, she moved with a sort of tired laziness, finally content in the arrival back home.

"Okay. I really need that shower." She backed up a few steps before turning on her heel and disappearing around the corner. A few minutes later, the sound of running water weakly howled against the walls. 

A violent crackle from the stove drew Mira’s focus back to the pan of vegetables searing. She glanced at Rumi. 

“Hey… do you have a handle on the food?”

“Yeah… why?”

”I’ll just… be right back.” Mira walked to the back door and slid it open, unsurprised when she found him sitting on the steps, head in his hands. He stirred as she shut the door behind her. He straightened and Mira now saw that in his hand was a picture.

The little girl in the picture had her hair tied up in pigtails, big brown eyes filled with the sort of spark that’s doomed to be snuffed out by middle school. She had a cowboy hat on her head that was too big, so it was tilted so far back it looked like it was about to fall. The overalls she had on were just as big, hanging off her like a shirt off a hanger.

Mira smiled. She had no need to ask who it was.

She pulled out her phone, and opened a translation app. She had downloaded it a year ago when her parents hosted some foreign businessman, and she'd wanted to eavesdrop. She spoke into it:

   |  "당신은 별로 행복해 보이지 않습니다."

   |  You don't look very happy.

She held her phone toward him, watching as his eyes flicked over the words. He tucked the photo into his wallet and took the phone. He answered, his tone tightened in a clear effort not to lash out at Mira. 

   |  "My fourteen year old daughter wants to move halfway across the world. Of course I'm not happy."

   |  열네 살 딸아이가 지구 반대편으로 이사 가고 싶어 해요. 당연히 기쁘지 않죠.

 She nodded. Okay... that's fair.

   |  "좋은 아버지라면 누구나 걱정할 것이다."

   |  Any good father would worry.

He reached for the phone, but Mira held up a finger. She had so many things she wanted to say. Things that translators would never be able to convey in full. She couldn't even convey how important it was that Zoey be at the Sanctuary. It meant everything.

She couldn't talk about the Honmoon, or how if Zoey wasn't part of Huntrix then demons could take over the world. No, she couldn't say that. Though, she barely wanted to anyway. What hinged on her mind so heavily wasn't the Honmoon or demons. All she could think about was that fact that Zoey's return had finally cured the tear in her stomach that had formed two weeks ago. If Zoey was dragged away, it would come back. And Mira knew she couldn't bear it.

   |  "하지만 좋은 아버지라면 딸의 꿈을 방해하지 않을 것입니다."

   |  But a good father would not interfere with his daughter's dreams.

He stared at the screen, and Mira could see the guilt play over his face. 

   |  "I just don't want her to get hurt."

   |  저는 그녀가 다치는 걸 원하지 않아요.

No shit, nobody wants her to get hurt.

No, I'm not going to be an asshole. Rise above it. 

Just get him to let Zoey stay.

She gritted her teeth as she said words that were too true. It was too personal to tell to someone like Zoey's father. The man was a stranger to her, but he was also so closely entwined with Zoey. Both too distant and too close to open up to. But she was determined. This was for Zoey.

   | "난 이런 일을 전에도 겪었어."

   | I've been through this before.

She flipped the phone around, let him read, and then spoke again. Every word felt like a mistake she couldn't undo. A confession she couldn't take back.

   |  "부모님은 나와 내 꿈을 결코 받아들이지 않으셨어요."

   |  My parents never accepted me or my dreams.

She tried to ignore that bug at the back of her mind that bit into her as she typed the next part. She wasn't saying any of it, but she was. Another person was learning this about her. She barely wanted to know it herself. She typed anyway.

   |  "그들이 절대 오디션을 못 보게 할 거라는 걸 알았죠. 그래서 도망쳤어요."

   |  I knew they would never let me audition. So I ran away. 

Her thumbs hovered over the mic icon on the screen. Her mind was torn in two: one part glad what she was about to say was true, the other part wishing it didn't have to be.

   |  "우리는 더 이상 이야기하지 않는다."

   |  We don't talk anymore.

Zoey's father tensed reading it, his gaze shifted up toward Mira with the most punchable expression she'd ever seen: pity.

Don’t you dare pity me.

Hey! Quit it.

Focus on Zoey.

   |  “날 동정하지 마. 날 믿어주는 사람이 있었어. 그녀의 이름은 에라였고, 내가 아직도 이야기하는 유일한 사람이야."

   |  Don't pity me. There was someone who believed in me. Her name was Era, and she's the only person I still talk to.

She waved her hand in what she hoped meant "Don't worry about it," She only had one more thing to say.

   |  "이게 그녀의 꿈이에요. 당신이 있든 없든 그녀는 해낼 거예요. 그러니 당신은 그녀가 해낼 수 있도록 놔야 해요."

   |  This is her dream. She'll do it with or without you, so you have to let her do it.

She set her phone down on the porch, looking him in the eyes. "Please." She said it in English. It felt so unfamiliar in her mouth, so odd as it tumbled off her tongue. She could tell her accent was thick, it sounded nothing like when Zoey said it. Mira was always amazed by how naturally Zoey had conquered both languages. Maybe that was part of what made her such a good rapper. And lyricist, too.

Zoey's incredible...

I think I'll stick to Korean.

The silence fell between them too quickly. Mira remembered way back on their first day at the Sanctuary. The only reason she had stayed was because Rumi sang that song. Because Rumi did something that showed her the fate before her. Someone had needed to show her. Serve her the truth on a silver platter, and she only just barely didn't abandon it all.

She had to show him. She was going to show him. Show him why Zoey belonged here. Why she had to be here. With her. And Rumi. Show him that there wasn't a single version universe where Zoey wasn't with them.

He nodded, and Mira had planned to sit beside him until he either said something else to stood up. 

Neither happened.

Instead, he stared out at the sky in dead silence. It wasn’t longs before her patience died, and she stood. She slipped back inside, only to see Zoey, hair still wet, leaping backwards with wide eyes clearly caught off-guard.

”AH!” She staggered back. “Warn a person!” She yelped as Mira shut the door.

”Were you eavesdropping?” Mira mused, a small smirk over her face. Then she remembered everything she’d said, and the smirk fell like someone had slapped it off.

“Were you?” This time she was serious.

“I… yeah.” Zoey admitted. “But only the end of it. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t gonna like… strangle my dad or something.”

Despite the redness that was definitely spreading across her face, a chuckle broke through in response.

Zoey straightened, “Thanks for talking to him. The last time he was in Korea, it was for the military. He talked about a lot of bad memories. Plus, yknow my grandpa fought in the Korean War…” She rubbed her sock into the floor, “Not to mention that he met my eomma here. And he doesn’t like the reminders. Sometimes I think he really does hate Korea…” She nervously shifted from one foot to the other.

”But I think you helped remind him that there’s more to it. That’s what I want him to see. The good parts.”

Mira nodded. “I hope I did something.”

She thought about that picture in Zoey’s father’s wallet. Tried to imagine Zoey as the little girl. She wondered if anyone saw through that big smile the little kid had been wearing. Probably not. 

She couldn’t begin to imagine trying to live between two cultures. She knew it dug at Zoey sometimes, but Mira didn’t care if Zoey forgot the rules—wait for the unnie to eat first, not blowing her nose in public, a one-handed handshake. Whatever.

There was something unique in all those social missteps that made adults turn their heads and scoff in disappointment. It was supposed to be a bad thing, Mira knew that. But being both made Zoey the way she was. All those notebooks and raps, stuffed animals and random facts that she blurted out without warning—none of that would have been Zoey if she’d grown up here. 

That spark had to be in America to survive. It had to have the kind of freedom that Americans have—the kind that makes them look rude and entitled. The kind that makes them look really, really stupid sometimes. The kind where social norms are so relaxed and casual that the rules can boil down to ‘be nice.’

At least, that’s what Mira guessed about America, based on what Zoey had talked about. It sounded like a nice place—nothing like the news reports Mira heard weekly about shootings at schools or crazy politics from every political party.

Zoey was something neither she nor Rumi could fully understand. Mira could mock. She could make a joke about it, or comment on it. But she never could really judge Zoey for any accident. She’d eat last every day if it meant Zoey be Zoey.

Maybe that was all her dad really wanted. Maybe he was scared of that spark getting stamped out. And, despite how she felt about him, she could understand that. 

At least he cared, in his own way. Better than her father had ever done.

“Mira?” Hands waved in front of her vision. She stirred, “Sorry, I was thinking.”

“Well, c’mon, dinner’s ready! I’m gonna go grab my dad.” Zoey bounced around her and slid open the door, leaving Mira standing in the rawness of thoughts she’d never properly thought before now. 

“Can we make a deal?”

“Hm?” Rumi glanced up. “What kind of deal?”

“Let’s never mock Zoey for any American habits.”

Rumi smiled a little as she divvied up the japchae. “Deal.”

As if on cue, Zoey slid the door back open, speaking English. She lead her father to the table and they all sat down.

”Celine’s probably still busy.” Rumi said, glancing down the hall to her office.

Zoey instantly moved into translator mode, being a communication bridge that would have been very convenient not very long ago…

Mira watched his face as Zoey’s father took a bite. His eyes widened a little, and he glanced at Rumi and spoke.

”This is really good. Where’d you learn to cook like this?” Zoey translated.

”I grew up cooking.” Rumi answered. 

The man nodded, and then glanced at Zoey, asking her something. Mira only caught “English”

Zoey shook her head, then, after a glance toward Mira and Rumi, shrugged a little. They didn’t translate anything, and Mira only picked out a few words that gave her hope.

Then, she saw a sweet calmness flood over Zoey, her shoulders fell, her eyes went easy, and three words Mira did understand flowed from the girl’s mouth like a breath of relief:

“Thank you, Dad.”

. . . . . . . . . .

This could be it. This could be the moment her dad decided that she couldn’t stay. This could be her last meal with them.

No. For the sake of whatever gods… please no. Please let me stay.

He liked the Japchae. Everything had gone about as well as it had. She showed him ‘everything’ in the hanok—except everything that didn’t exist in his reality...

”Zozers, can they understand English at all?”

She shook her head, but then she wondered. Maybe they did? She shrugged a little too. 

“Look, this is all nerve-wracking.”

“I know… but—“

“—I understand why you want to be here.”

Zoey saw his gaze flick toward Mira, “And I know this is what you want. So…” He sighed. “Okay.”

Zoey perked up. “Okay?”

A nod. “We… we’ll make it work. But, there will be conditions.”

Zoey felt all the terror melt away.

Okay. He said okay.

I can stay.

I’m staying.

Her heart finally let itself beat. Her lungs let her breathe. She felt tears spiked with euphoric joy play in the corners of her eyes. 

“Thank you, Dad.”

Chapter Text

Rumi rolled over in her bed, her eyes catching the time printed on her alarm clock: 23:43.

It was late, it was hot, and she was tired. The day had been spent as all days were spent:

Wake up

Breakfast

Physical training

Break

Vocal training

Morning Patrol

Lunch

Combat training

Housekeeping chores

Evening patrol

And, finally: Collapse into bed.

She had done the final step to the day almost three hours ago. Yet, as it was on a fair number of nights, sleep eluded her like a phantom. Its weight danced across her eyelids and sat upon her limbs, but when she tried to seize it, it would vanish. 

It coaxed itself into her embrace and then wriggled free whenever she tried to hold it. And at the end of each struggle she would be trapped in consciousness. Left with tired eyes that couldn’t shut and an exhausted mind that couldn’t sleep.

The thoughts—if they could be called ‘thoughts’ at all—were mere fragments. Little disturbances in her stream of consciousness that proved to be even more fleeting than sleep. 

A loud banging echoed through her room. Her entire body locked up in a momentary terror, chased away by the realization that it was only knocking. She shook off the sudden tension in her chest. “Come on in.”

The door slid open swiftly, and the shadow of Zoey zipped in before spinning and sliding the door back shut. Without hesitation she reached for the latch and secured the door.

Uhh… why?

“Zoey? What’s going on?”

Zoey turned and in too few steps for someone of Zoey’s size, she was at Rumi’s bedside, already leaning onto he mattress.

“We can’t be interrupted. We need to have a long and serious conversation. This is vital.”

As they locked gazed, Rumi felt a hollow shiver tear through her. Zoey’s face had no playfulness in its expression. There was no mischief, there was no sweetness or spark. It didn’t fit on her face. Everything about Zoey was built to emanate emotion.

The most jarring were her eyes, dark with an urgency that terrified Rumi. Only one thing could warrant such intensity.

Rumi almost grabbed her arm, but such a move would have given her away.

There’s no way she saw.

There’s no way she knows.

No no no… how did…?

How did she find out?

“Z-Zoey lis-t—“

“Tomorrow is Mira’s birthday.” Zoey’s drill-sergeant voice cut her off completely, and she was infinitely grateful for it.

Huh?

“And that means: We have to throw her a birthday bash!

Rumi blinked. Not the… oh my god.

I almost just blurted that out.

I almost—

No, no panicking, no panicking. Nothing is actually wrong. It’s okay.

Zoey slid down onto her knees, propping her hands up on Rumi’s bed.

“Please Rumi?? Can we stay up all night baking cakes and stuff??? We got all that baking supplies now, let’s use it!”

Note to self: wait until someone says what they want to talk about before you start blabbering.

“S-Sounds good, Zo.” Rumi couldn’t help the smile from creeping onto her face. Despite the fact that she almost…

Wait.

Did she say stay up all night?

“YAY!” Zoey whisper-shouted. She grabbed Rumi’s blanket and yanked it off the bed. 

“Zoey!” Rumi yelped. 

She definitely said that…

The next thing Rumi knew, she was standing in the kitchen—only now did sleep suddenly want to come around—while Zoey flitted about like a tornado, tearing into cupboards mercilessly.

Rumi remembered now, way back when Mira’s parents had shown up. Mira left them alone with her brother. Zoey wasted all of thee seconds before she got up and threatened Jiho until he gave up his sister’s—and his—birthday. Mira had never mentioned her brother was also her twin. Eventually Mira would tell them.

After all, who was she to push a secret?

“I made sure we got everything for it. I’ve never tried to make this before, by the way. So, if all goes wrong, we’ll… um… we just won’t let it go wrong.” 

“Did you at least choose an easy recipe?”

“Nope! I chose the most pretentious one I could find. We even have to separate the egg whites.”

“Okay then.” 

The mess built, but the more concerning escalation was the noise. More than once they dropped a fork, or an entire mixing bowl (thankfully, it was empty when it happened), and an open bag of sugar (unfortunately, that one was not empty).

While Rumi swept up the casualties, Zoey’s voice mused over her head “Cream of tartar is the most unappetizing-sounding thing I’ve ever seen in a recipe.” 

“Hey, how much sugar we got?”

“Enough, I hope…” Rumi winced at the pile of white crystals on the floor. 

Zoey checked her phone. “a-da-dah… Oh, yeah we’re fine.” She scooped out a quarter cup and dumped it into the egg whites they’d whipped. 

“The recipe said to do that slowly!” Rumi panicked.

“Meh. Same difference.” Zoey shrugged.

They continued on, adding sugar to the yolks, adding one thing and then another until finally they combined the two mixtures. This time, Rumi took over, “The recipe says to do it slowly and gently!”

“It doesn’t matter!” Zoey laughed. 

“Yes, it does!”

“Why?” 

“It says we don’t want all the air to be beaten out of the egg whites, it’ll make the cakes less fluffy!” She turned the phone screen to Zoey.

“Wait… There’s an actual reason? And they explained it?” Zoey grabbed the phone, reading the paragraph before huffing with satisfaction. “Huh. That’s kinda cool… Most recipes just boss you around.”

”Isn’t that… the point?” Rumi asked.

”Shh. Go preheat the oven.” Zoey nudged Rumi forward. All she could do was swallow the chuckle in her throat as she followed the order and started the preheat. 

Once the actual cakes were baking, they started on the frosting and syrup. Rumi’s eyes caught the clock again: 1:17

“Why’d you decide on the cream cakes?” She asked. as she assembled the ingredients in a rational order.

“Well… I wanted to make something Korean but also dessert-y. And I didn’t want to make something generic thing, y’know? So, a few months ago I did some googling, and I ended up on this.” She smiled. “Plus, I know Mira likes strawberries. So, it seemed perfect.”

Rumi smiled a little. “You were thinking about Mira’s birthday months ago?”

“Yeah… I just… I dunno. Eomma says I care too much, but I can’t help it.” Zoey shrugged a little, but to Rumi, it came off as defensive, not dismissive. She didn’t know why she felt it so bluntly, but a spark of indignation for Zoey burned inside her.

“Then don’t.”

Whoa.

Zoey raised an eyebrow in confusion. “What?”

Rumi almost had the same reaction. What was that? “I just mean… um… it’s not a bad thing, so… don’t change it… right?”

Zoey looked at her hands as she fiddled with a spoon before tossing it into the sink. “Ru-mi…” She cooed, her voice drenched in sap. “You’re such a sweetheart.” 

”I am not.”

”You are. You and Mira. You guys act stoic… but you’re nicer than anyone else I’ve ever met.”

Rumi looked at the spoon sitting in the sink. She didn’t know how to keep the conversation going—how to take a compliment she couldn’t believe.

“Don’t you still need that?” She asked.

Zoey glanced over, “Crap… I do.”

Rumi smiled a little, but a sound from down the hall made her freeze. “Did you hear that?”

Zoey nodded, panic on her face. “Is she up?”

As if to answer, they heard her door slide open. Footsteps padded down the hall. They stared at each other, eyes pulled wide in fear.

Then a door slide shut.

‘Bathroom.’ Zoey mouthed. Rumi nodded.

“We have to clean. Now.” Rumi whispered. They grabbed anything baking-related and carefully shoved it into a cabinet, dirty or not. The frosting and half-done syrup were shoved into a different cabinet. The cakes, which were cooling on a wire rack for barely three minutes, were shoved to the corner of the counter with a towel thrown over it.

Then they waited. After a while, the toilet flush and sink told them any second they’d either have to pretend they were just having a late-night snack or something that wouldn’t be suspicious.

When the door slid open, Rumi’s heart dropped as footsteps moved toward them. She did one final check to make sure everything was okay, turning and swatting the flour from Zoey’s shirt. She spotted a towel they’d used one too many times to clean up spills.

Shit! Towel!

Rumi snatched it and held it behind her back as she leaned against the counter. Zoey, slipping into the act far more gracefully, simply hopped up onto it and swung her legs like any other kid would. 

Then Mira rounded the corner and laid eyes on them.

“I thought I heard voices.” She said. “Why are you guys up? It’s like 2 in the morning.”

They answered at the same time:

“Snacks.”

“Tea.”

“I was getting snacks, and then I distracted Rumi, so now she has no tea.” Zoey’s voice morphed into a mocking sad-blubber in the latter half of her excuse.

Why is she so good at this?

“Also… one to talk.” Zoey snickered. “Why’re you up?”

“I woke up. I have a feeling that’s more sleep than the both of you combined.”

Zoey leaned over “She has us there, doesn’t she?”

Reluctantly, Rumi nodded. “I was hoping the tea would help me sleep… and as you can see, it didn’t exactly pan out quite yet.”

‘Quite yet’? Is that a thing I say? That’s completely normal, isn’t it?

I don’t know… Zoey, please keep talking, I’m so bad at this!

Zoey stood up on the counter, grabbing a mug from one cupboard and a tea bag from the box sitting far too closely to the covered up cakes. Zoey plucked it out like there was nothing in corner.

Every movement Zoey made was like she believed wholeheartedly that she really was just there for snacks, and Rumi really was just there for tea.

I didn’t know Zoey was so good at lying… I don’t even believe we were up to anything.

“There ya go.” Zoey tossed the tea bag over, and Rumi rigidly caught it in her free hand, the other still holding the messy towel behind her. Then Zoey slid the mug over. “I’ve helped you make tea. Forgive me?”

Forgive? Oh, right. We’re lying.

“Very well.” Rumi said with a performative shrug. “You’re forgiven.”

Mira yawned again before she started walking, “I’m gonna go back to bed. You guys should, too.” She called over her shoulder as she disappeared around the corner.

They listened as the footsteps grew fainter, then a door slid open and shut.

”I can’t believe that worked…” Rumi whispered.

”Me neither.” Zoey silently clapped her hands together. “Okay, let’s finish those cakes!”

. . . . . . . . . .

Mira sat in bed, smiling like a war criminal. When she woke up at one in the morning, she hadn’t known why for only about three seconds. Immediately after, she heard them chattering all the way from her room. 

From the conversation alone she could hear them talking about cream cakes and sappy crap. 

When the hell did they figure out my birthday?

It was something she’d kept fairly guarded… she must have slipped up at some point. She was torn now between walking into the kitchen and seeing how they’d scramble, or going back to sleep and playing dumb in the morning.

She decided on the best of both worlds. She stretched, yawned as loudly as she could, and opened her door with all the grace of a panda. into the bathroom, making sure to let to door close with a little more force than normal. She heard the sounds of scrambling in between whispers too hushed for her to make out.

She didn’t really know what to do. Eventually, she settled on standing awkwardly in the middle of the bathroom.

I could’ve just played a game or something.

Oh well. It’s probably been long enough.

She flushed the toilet, then walked over to the sink. She flicked her hand under the water a few times to disrupt the stream, mostly just playing with it. She flicked off the sink and dried her hand on her shirt. Her hand fell indecisively on the door handle.

Now the choice arose again. Should she walk out there? If they did a terrible job hiding stuff, or if they couldn’t hide it for some reason, then it would ruin all the fun.

The last thing she wanted was for Rumi to stare at the floor like she’d screwed up, or for Zoey’s spark to get dulled out, because of her.

That said, this could also be a really funny story to tell in the future.

How could she resist?

She stepped out and turned toward the kitchen. Rumi looked like she’d just seen a ghost. Zoey looked… actually completely normal. Mira quickly gave a subtle glance around, and was relieved to see she could play dumb. She couldn’t see any obvious signs that they’d been making cream cakes. 

Aside from the fact that Rumi looked she was about to have her mugshot taken.

I thought I heard voices.” Mira said, forcing herself to sound a little less like she’d been hearing them for the past thirty minutes

This might be evil.

“Why are you guys up? It’s like 2 in the morning.”

“Snacks.” Zoey answered.

“Tea.” Rumi answered.

Yeah. That was evil.

“I was getting snacks, and then I distracted Rumi, so now she has no tea.” Zoey clarified. She pointed right at Mira, “Also… one to talk. Why’re you up?”

“I woke up.” Mira answered. It was the truth. “I have a feeling that’s more sleep than the both of you combined.”

“She has us there, doesn’t she?” Zoey asked Rumi.

Rumi nodded. “I was hoping the tea would help me sleep… and as you can see, it didn’t exactly pan out quite yet.”

Mira nodded. A silence was just about to settle when Zoey stood up and grabbed a mug from the cupboard, before she took one of Rumi’s tea bags and tossed it to her. Rumi caught it, but her… everything… was so stiff.

Oh, I can’t wait to tell this story someday.

“There ya go. I’ve helped you make tea.” Zoey plastered on a pouty face, “Forgive me?”

“Very well.” Rumi shrugged, a little less rigid than she was before. “You’re forgiven.”

Alright. Good enough. Time to leave.

She faked a yawn and a stretch, “I’m gonna go back to bed.” She turned and started walking, but she called over her shoulder, “You guys should, too.”

Once she was back in her room, she sat on her bed. Her hand reached for a pillow. She pulled it to her chest and wrapped her arms around it. Embraced it so she wouldn’t feel the space around her. She’d done this a thousand times back home.

But her mind wasn’t quite as bitter as it had been last time. The more she thought, the sweeter and sweeter everything felt until she could have broken down into sobs. Her mind was heavy with the one thing she really wanted to say, but, for every reason, couldn’t:

Also… thank you for the cake.

Chapter Text

She woke that morning to silence. She expected it, given that Rumi and Zoey were still under the impression that all this was secretive.

What she did not expect was for the shouting to begin the moment her feet touched the floor.

Her door flew open, slamming in its frame as Zoey and Rumi stepped in.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY MIRA!!!” Zoey screamed. The sudden burst of decibels rattled her ears. A violent flinch overcame her—the kind of flinch that only comes when facing certain death. But she recovered, and was fully past it when she saw the cakes.

They looked… unpolished, to say the least. After growing up at fancy people’s parties, and perfectly ‘curated’ birthdays, Mira knew a lopsided mess when she saw one.

She loved them. She loved them so much. She didn’t even care if they all tasted like sugary ash. She knew they’d made them for her. But now, seeing the mess of imperfectly spread frosting and uneven cakes? Seeing them made it so much more real.

Throughout her life, she had always assumed there to be a caveat to every happy moment. If Father and Mother were kind, they were trying to bait her into something. An event, sitting in on a meeting, or being forced to sit and watch her parents chew up time and spit it out for money.

Every act of kindness was just a ploy to get her to fork over another piece of her autonomy. But there was no catch here. And she knew that. She knew they were different. That this place was different.

But looking at the physical proof of that difference made it undeniable.

Who cares about how it looks when they made it for me? 

“Thanks, you guys…” She didn’t have the guts to spill her real reaction. 

“There’s more!” Zoey smiled. She handed the cakes to Rumi, who held onto the tray like she’d fight an army to keep it safe. Then Zoey grabbed Mira’s arm and dragged her from her room, “C’mon!”

They ran into the kitchen, where three bowls sat, already prepared.

One filled with Zoey’s cereal, and the other two were filled with Yukgaejang. Mira smiled, still trying to hold her cool. “How did you even know this was my favorite?”

“We have our ways.” Rumi said with a smirk. She glanced at Zoey, and the two of them shared the kind of grin that sent shivers down Mira’s spine.

“What did you do?” She asked warily.

“Oh… nothing…” Zoey dramatically waved her hand in dismissal of the thought, “Let’s eat!”

Mira took a single sip of the soup, and it felt like her mind had fractured. What the hell?

It was the same.

Exactly the same.

Maybe it was the spice (it wasn’t) making tears well up. She forced them down and stared daggers into the soup, willing the tickle behind her eyes to stop. She took another spoonful in fervent disbelief.

It really was. Did they just… happen to find the same recipe? That had to be it. She’d never told them. Never said a word to either of them about it.

”It’s really good.” She choked out. The spice mixed with the few sweet memories she had, twisting into a lump in her throat. It held her words hostage. 

“You really like it?” Rumi asked. “It’s not too spicy?”

She swallowed the lump to answer: “Nuh-uh. It’s perfect.”

“Are you sure? You look like you’re gonna cry…” Zoey chimed in. “Maybe we made it too spicy…” She murmured.

“No, no… it’s…” She stuttered in her speech. Maybe the lie was easier than the truth. The spice wasn’t why.

“Maybe it is a little spicy, my tolerance must have dulled out.” She lied with a small chuckle. “I love it though. It’s still perfect.”

She ate the entire thing, and the burn still seared her tongue as Zoey and Rumi slid a little folded up paper sheath toward her. She held it, and unfolded it.

Inside was a simple corded bracelet, with three little wooden beads, each one inscribed with a letter:

R, M, and Z

Mira looked up at them, and they were holding out identical bracelets. The only difference was the order. on Zoey’s, the Z was in the center. On Rumi’s, the R.

“Do you like it?”

I’m not going to cry.

It was such a little thing. It could have been nothing at all. It was a cord and beads. And yet it had her on the verge of sobbing.

And she didn’t sob. Ever.

“I love it.”

They threw the bowls into the sink, and came into the TV room. Mira couldn’t help but laugh—The room had Zoey’s handiwork painted all over it. The coffee tables had been turned on their sides.

The couch was turned around so the back of it made the back of the fort, with enough space for them to lie down and stretch their legs. And, of course, blankets built the roof and filled in the gaps. The TV was also on the floor instead of its stand, eye level with anyone lying down.

They crawled into the fort, shoulders bumping shoulders, and Mira was impressed. Popcorn and chips were already laid out in between the open wall and the TV.

“What are we watching?” Mira asked.

“Up to you, silly!” Zoey answered. “It’s your day.”

She thought for a second, but she couldn’t think of a single movie or show. She hoped Zoey might do it for her:

“You said there were movies you wanted to show us, right, Zo?”

“Yeah, but…” Zoey trailed off.

“We want to watch what you want to watch.” Rumi chimed in.

”I’m down for something new.” Mira said, turning to Zoey. “What are the movies?”

Zoey thought for a moment, “Let’s see… there was a lot of Spider-man movies, How to Train your Dragon, Ri-”

“The dragon one, Let’s watch that.” Mira said quickly.

Zoey beamed. “Fan-tas-tic choice! It just so happens that I have a DVD of it!” She leapt up and rummaged through a box that had been sitting beside the TV—Zoey had brought it back from Burbank.

“Why do you have so many DVDs? Don’t you like… stream stuff?”

“I like the retro vibes. I have a crap-ton of vinyls too.”

Fair enough.

The movie started, and they all settled into the snacks. Mira snorted as Hiccup’s launcher malfunctioned and knocked out another Viking.

“No way he fired that shot.” Rumi murmured later, after Hiccup apparently shot a… Night Fury, was it? 

She didn’t like how much it resonated when Hiccup said “I just want to be one of you guys.”

She’d felt that once. 

When Hiccup found the dragon. she was astounded. The animation of the wing passing over its closed eye, it being open as it appeared back in sight sent chills over her.

“Sick.” She murmured.

“He’s not gonna kill it. No way.” Rumi muttered. “If he kills it, I’m leaving.”

“Rumi, what’s the movie called?”

She thought for a second, “Okay… but still…”

The dragon pounced on Hiccup, and Mira snickered, “Maybe he’s not the one dying.”

“If Hiccup dies, I’m also leaving.”

“You and me both.” Zoey chimed in.

The dragon roared, and then left. Hiccup collapsed.

“I think I’d do that too if a dragon burst my eardrums, don’t you think?”

The next scene had barely started when a knock at the door ripped their attention from the movie. Zoey paused it. “Well… who could that be?” She posed in a mime-like shrug. 

“I don’t know…” Rumi said in the same tone. 

“You guys are dorks.” Mira muttered. “What is it? What’d you do?”

“Go see.” Rumi said plainly.

Mira crawled from the fort before she stood and walked out of the room. She tentatively moved toward the front door, turning back to look at the other two. “Can’t you just tell me?”

“Nope. It’s a surprise!” Zoey chirped. She and Rumi hung back, like they were keeping back from a grenade. 

She sighed, and, careful, she slid the door open.

The world stopped. Nothing dared to ruin this moment.

Her short, dark-brown hair that curled around her ears and the frames of her glasses. The dimples in her smile. And those eyes filled with nothing but love. 

Mira forgot to breathe. “A-” The name died without air to fuel it. She turned around, Zoey and Rumi were beaming like they’d just solved every mystery of the universe. 

“How…” She turned back, not quite believing it all over again.

The yukgaejang. They got the recipe from her.

It was too much.

She’d never had a good birthday. Every year her parents would throw parties with priceless decorations, shove her into a gorgeous dress she’d never want to wear, and parade her and her brother around with a pristine cake worth too much. They’d be given gifts Mira had no interest in that cost more than the paychecks given to the staff. 

But here, Rumi and Zoey had figured something in no time that her family never figured out. 

It was never about the stupid cake, or the expensive gifts, or the fancy clothes or ‘exquisite’ foods.

It was never about any of that.

It was about this. All they’d done all day proved over and over and over again that they loved her. That they knew her. That they saw her, and loved her anyway.

The dam broke, and she fell into Aera’s arms, sobbing like a two year-old. “This is… the best birthd-day… I’ve ever had.” Her voice shattered over the words. The world might have started to move again—Mira didn’t care.

Nothing could have tarnished this moment. Nothing at all.

“I missed you so much, my little aegiya.” Aera breathed.

“I missed you, too.” She murmured. “How… how on earth…”

Zoey spoke behind her. “When you were talking to my dad… You said something about an ‘Aera.’ So… I did some stal-I mean… research. Once I found her on Facebook, I asked her to come down. I even convinced Celine to pay for her trip and everything.”

“You did all that for me?”

“Rumi helped.”

“She did most of it…” Rumi shied a little. “But… yeah. Of course we did.”

‘Of course we did.’ 

She wiped her eyes, suddenly very aware of the fact that she’d just crumbled any wall she ever had. “God… now I’m the sap.” She tried to laugh, but another sob broke it in two. They gradually migrated into the hanok, sitting down. 

They spent the entire evening catching up. Mira talked all about the idol training and all the things they’d done. Zoey and Rumi asked Aera all sorts of questions, and Aera asked them too. 

It was an evening filled with nothing but warm words and happy chatter. When Celine got back from the studio, it didn’t end. Maybe Celine was a hard-ass. Maybe sometimes she was a really ginormous bitch.

But Celine had done so much for her—for all of them. As much as she hated to admit it, Celine was just as human. as the rest of them. And as she told Aera all about the three of them, and the rough idea for their futures—minus the whole Hunters part—Mira saw that rare softness in the older woman. A kindness that usually sat beneath heavy stones was peeking through.

She wasn’t perfect. Far from it. But even Celine showed that she cared, sometimes. And even that was more than her actual family had ever done.

As night fell, Rumi and Zoey retreated to the dishes, leaving Mira with Aera. They sat out on the porch, watching fireflies cover the woods like little flickering stars.

“I like them—Rumi and Zoey.” Aera said, “They think the world of you, you know.”

“They’re the best friends I’ve ever had.” Mira murmured. “They’re just… I don’t know.”

“What? Sisters?”

“Kinda… but… like I chose them. And they chose me… for whatever reason.”

”For good reason.” Aera instructed. “You should have heard them on the phone. Zoey begged me to come for thirty minutes after I’d already agreed!”

“That’s Zoey…” Mira smiled, but it faltered at a nervous thought that wouldn’t go away. “Do my parents know you’re here? This won’t reflect on you, will it?”

“Actually, they said they were happy I was going. Jiho wanted me to give you this.” Aera pulled it out of her pocket. A red-velvet envelope with a stamp seal. Another fancy thing that didn’t need to be all that fancy. 

Jiho sent this?

“They wanted me to check up on you.”

“Don’t see why they bothered.” Mira muttered as she set the envelope down beside her. She didn’t want to risk opening it. It could ruin this day, and she wouldn’t allow that. But, when she thought back to his face that day at the Sanctuary, something gnawed at her. There was a thin, weak hope that trailed into the air, like smoke from a dying candle.

She leaned forward, her hands holding her knees. “They’re just gonna drag me back for a visit soon enough anyway.”

“They may not…” Aera offered, but it was flimsy.

“It’s part of the deal they made with Celine. Every time my phone goes off—“ Mira stalled. Some things weren’t meant to be said. Not even to Aera.

Aera softened even more, wrapping her arm around Mira, “I understand.”

“Why couldn’t I have been your daughter?” Her voice was the shadow of a whisper against the croaking and chirping in the dark of night. Aera only tightened the hug against the chill in the air.

“Because we would have been very, very poor.” Aera said with a laugh. The sadness Mira didn’t want to feel broke in half as a laugh tore out of her. 

“I guess you’re right…” She said as the tail end of the laugh last trickled out. They sighed into contentedness.

After a while, the chill and the mosquitoes drove them back inside, where Rumi and Zoey were waiting on the couch. “Happy birthday?” Zoey asked.

Mira nodded. “Happy birthday.”

“Cake time!” Zoey clapped her hands together as they brought out the tray again. Mira only now realized they’d all forgotten about them. Zoey stuck a single candle into each cake, and lit all 3. “Make a wish!”

Mira did just that, and blew out the little flames.

They cut up the cakes—they were incredible. Underneath the exterior of amateur’s work of a frosting layer dwelled a wonderful flavor. 

She hoped her wish would come true in the end:

I hope I never lose any of you.

Chapter Text

Her fingers tensed against the fence as Zoey watched Mira summon her gok-do. It was fine. Everything was perfectly fine. There was no reasonable implication that rationally explained the knot in her stomach. Nothing rational to serve as justification for the anxiety.

There was only a memory that still gnawed at her. A memory that this scene had played out once before at a time when everything was very much not fine.

Celine held her dual swords—dulled replicas, this time—waiting for Mira to move. Mira didn’t waste a lot of time before she took a sure step forward. It was a step of pure confidence and power, a statement of who would win.

And it wasn’t alone, instead followed by a flurry of long stride that closed the distance in a flash. In between heartbeats, Zoey’s world stalled. In less than a second, Mira’s gok-do would meet Celine’s swords. 

The next beat came, and gok-do met swords in a clash that echoed through her ears. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t laced with venom or rage. It sounded like training. 

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath, but as she exhaled her lungs ached for more air. 

Rumi strolled up, leaning on the fence. “Nervous?”

Zoey nodded, her gaze still trained on Celine’s movements, though her attention was anywhere but. Today was, as Celine had said, a kind of evaluation of their training. She’d been trying to ignore the feeling that rippled across her skin. It was like everything was a trigger and there was a finger ready to squeeze every single one. 

“It’ll be alright.” Rumi said softly.

“I don’t know about that.” She mumbled. “What if I screw it up?”

“I think you’ll be fine” Rumi chuckled, “It’s just an evaluation to determine where we need to focus more.”

“I know, but what if—“

“Zoey, you’re going to be just fine. Even if you don’t do that well at something, that’s why we’re evaluating. You’ll practice it more.” Rumi glanced down at the ground for a moment before looking back up at her. “There’s a reason I do so much agility training.” The shrug that followed was too nonchalant to come from Rumi’s shoulders. Even when the lavender haired girl was relaxed, her shrugs were usually tight and tense under the weight of the world.

And yet, looking at her now, that weight was… gone. Zoey had never seen Rumi so relaxed. Her limbs weren’t braced to lunge at a demon or run from a conversation. For the first time it didn’t look like her eyes were filled with too many thoughts for one mind to bear. 

She sighed, a mix of relief and confusion. She looks so peaceful… what changed?

Curiosity got the best of her: “How come you’re so… chill?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that this is the kinda thing that would have you keeling over.” Zoey pointed out.

“Meh.” Another shrug of loose shoulders. “Take a long enough shower and all your worries go away.” Rumi answered.

Zoey nodded, and now that she looked Rumi up and down properly, she only then noticed that Rumi’s hair was still damp, and her skin was slightly reddened.

She nodded, still feeling a little let down. Not by Rumi, but just… by circumstance. She was hoping that whatever had worked so well for Rumi might have worked for her too. She’d tried long showers before, but whenever she gave it a go, her heart just wasn’t in the motions. Showers never really calmed her nerves. They were just showers, after all.

She remembered her eomma would take a bath to calm down. Maybe it was just about warm water for some , and Rumi was one of them.

Where’s the relaxing in standing? Maybe a bath would be a different story?

She made a mental note to herself that she should try a bathhouse sometime. Mira raved about them, and complained often that there weren’t any around. Zoey remembered that the day of the Seoul trip, Mira was grumbling in frustration as they walked into the hanok. She’d only realized then that a bathhouse would have been the cherry on top of the somewhat impromptu outing.

“Zoey!” The voice cut through the memory impatiently.

Crap. Was that Celine?

“Sorry!” She yelped on instinct, not sure what she was apologizing for quite yet. She’d had enough thought spirals interrupted to know she’d dropped a ball somewhere along the way. “I was just thinking.”

“Think less, spar more.” Mira said, grimacing as she rubbed a juvenile bruise. “You’re up.” As she neared Zoey, she offered her fist, “Kick her ass.”

Zoey slid off the fence to return the bump, and Mira hopped up in her place. Zoey turned to study the girl’s face, all roughed up with dirt and absolutely dripping in bliss. A sly, satisfied smirk was firmly stamped on her lips, her eyes holding the remnants of what very well could have been sadism.

“I think you enjoy this too much.” Zoey chuckled as she backed up toward Celine.

“Hypocrite.” 

She stuck her tongue out as Mira flipped her off, and she turned, picking up the pace. When she got into the arena, the nervousness pitched in a way that mimicked readiness—eagerness, even. She already felt her own monstrous little grin playing about her lips. Her fingers twitched around the air, itching to summon a shin-kal.

Maybe Mira had a point… I too enjoy this too much…

Celine nodded—the signal to go—and the world became a flurry of violence. She summoned six shin-kal, and sent 3 straight for Celine.

She’ll dodge them. 

Celine did. Not even a trainer would take daggers to the arm. As Celine moved right—toward Zoey’s left—another shin-kal flew toward Celine’s foot. The foot didn’t let the shimmering dagger catch it.

In a flash, her last two shin-kal became melee knives in function as she parried Celine’s blows. Parry left, dodge right, parry above. 

Such was the stalemate. Celine was fast, but Zoey found her stride in scrambles. There was an inexplicable awareness in her mind that told her where everything important was, and nothing else.

Celine. Celine’s shortswords. Zoey. Zoey’s shin-kal. The dirt beneath their feet. Beyond this was void, and void alone.

She leapt back from a vicious swipe from Celine’s swords, and the woman sprang forward for a lunge. Zoey hunched low and threw herself into a clumsy tumble leftward. The moment her feet found the ground, her fingers dug trenches through the dirt.

Celine was coming.

What a… dirty trick. Zoey thought with a giggle.

Mira would have smacked her for that. 

She grabbed the handful of dirt and whipped it forward. The specks of brown peppered Celine’s face and eyes and her steps staggered. Zoey lunged now, grabbing Celine’s right wrist and yanking her forward as hard as she could while she stepped behind.

She banished her shin-kal—this part was pretend—and drove her fist lightly into the nape of her neck. The void receded, and the rest of the world returned.

“Nicely done.” Celine said, rubbing her eyes. “The dirt was a cheap move, whi—“

“I’m sorry.” Zoey said, already the sting of regret poisoning the victory, but Celine patted her on the shoulder.

“No no, no apologizing for tricks. It was cheap, which is a good thing. Demons won’t play fair. You shouldn’t either.”

“Oh.” Zoey relaxed, feeling the poison drain away. “So… I did well?”

“You did well. Take your break now, and then we’ll start up on columns.”

I did well… 

“Yes, Celine.”

As she walked away, she ran over what Celine had said. Demons play dirty, so play dirty. She logged a mental note to write that down in her notebook.

The moment she did so, she stopped dead in her tracks. The lack of a memory drove her heart rate skyward and twisted her hands into fists that clenched and unclenched with panic.

Where’s my notebook? 

She bolted to the porch, but as she moved up the stairs the toe of her shoe clipped the top step. She stumbled forward, catching herself against the sliding door. She yanked it open with such wild force that it may have broken. 

That didn’t matter right now. “Where is it?” She muttered, panic surging through her like a flash flood. She trampled over the threshold into her room, tripping over her feet as they trembled in the shoes she’d forgotten to take off.

“Crap!” She hissed at herself as she tore blankets from her bed. Nothing there! She dove too quickly toward the floor, slamming her jaw against the wood. A shockwave shot up the left side of her face, digging into her ear. It pulsed against her teeth as she rolled over her back, rubbing the sharp throbbing that wouldn’t fade. “Ow…” She groaned.

She turned her head, focusing on the space under her bed. Nothing. For once in her life nothing was kicked under her bed. Her jaw throbbed even with an even thicker pain, kike it was trying to mock her. “Owww.” She whined as she stood up.

Mira appeared in the doorway, “What happened? Are you okay?”

”I can’t find my notebook and my jaw hurts… I can’t find it anywhere!” Zoey sat on her bed, trying to mentally scan the hanok’s rooms and halls. The pain rendered the attempt a failure.

Mira glanced along the floor, “Oh, Zo, it’s right here.” She reached down to get it, and Zoey’s nerves turned to lead

She trusted Mira. Mira was a safe person. 

But there was this notion in her head, this rule. It stated that a hand near her notebook is always to be treated like a threat. And she followed that rule religiously. 

She felt how untrusting the movements were as she dropped to her knees and lunged her hand outward for the notebook. Instinct was never trusting, after all. It was in her hands in an instant, and Mira slowly stood back up.

“Okey dokey…” She nodded, coating a stunned expression with something toneless. “You… hungry at all?”

“Mir, I didn’t mea-“

Mira held up her hand in a sort of surrender. “Zo, it’s your notebook.” She lowered her arms and gave the maknae a reassuring, albeit subtle, smile. “I’m not gonna touch it if you don’t want me to.”

She doesn’t think I trust her.

Of course I trust her! I just…

It’s my notebook.

Tears pricked at her eyes. “It’s just that it’s… private.” She explained. “Like I trust you, and y-“

“Zo-ey!” Mira droned, “It’s okay!”

She looked back and forth between Mira’s eyes, and in an instant she melted into relief. Why was I even worried?

“Sorry…”

“Don’t apologize, silly.” Mira playfully shoved Zoey’s shoulder, and turned to leave before stopping. “Oh, right.”

She turned back around, “Did—”

Zoey’s stomach growled so loudly that Zoey was sure she heard an echo. Mira paused, holding back a laugh that came trickling out as she finished her question:

“—you… want food?” 

Zoey hung her head as her own laughter broke out. “Good timing, stomach.” She wiped her eyes—the tears were pushed out by laughter. “Yeah.” She said with a chortle, “Yeah, I’m pretty hungry.”

Rumi had left some kimbap rolls in the fridge for them, and they sat down and snacked on them. Zoey flipped to Rumi’s section and scribbled in:

Rumi likes showers

- They make her worry less

Then she flipped to the latest page with space:

Celine says demons fight dirty, so I should too. 
Ways to fight dirty:

- Dirt in face, trip them up, sneak attacks… villain maneuvers.

I guess even heroes have to do tough things…

We must be villains to someone to be heroes to everyone else. 

She tapped the pen against the paper for a beat before continuing on.

Hey, Mira,

about th

You’ll never read this,

It’s just a noteb

I’m sorry. About the notebook. 

I trust you. I would take a bullet for you and I know you’d take one for me. 

I’m just scared. If you saw… any of this…that maybe you’d realize how much of a loser I really am.

She shook her head. Why am I writing this? I don’t… Am I a loser?

Two voices answered:

“You’re literally a Hunter. How could you be a loser?”

“Loser and a freak. There’s a reason everyone was mean to you. Why they all abandoned you.”

No. I’m more than that. I know that. 

Don’t I?

Am I just being cocky? Is this just ego?

The scariest thing was the prospect that maybe she was wrong. That in some way she’d managed to misread a years worth of interaction. That maybe in the places she felt love and understanding, there was only performative tolerance. 

“Hey, Mira?” Zoey glanced up, and Mira gave her the same look as always, patient and waiting.

She cleared her throat. “Um… How do you know if you’re a good person?”

Mira sat back, a quizzical look passing over her. Then she shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you think I’m a good person?”

Zoey didn’t hesitate to nod at such an obvious question. In what way was Mira anything but good? Mira was kind in quiet ways. Subtle things she did so often Zoey almost forgot to notice them. Little, reassuring touches to say “Hey, still here,” coupled with glances that told her everything was going to be okay.

Of course Mira’s a good person!

Mira smiled. “Well… I think you’re a good person too. And that’s how you know.”

Zoey giggled a little, “Because you say so?”

But Mira only nodded, eyes almost daring Zoey to try and challenge the claim and she leaned forward on her elbows. “Yeah. Cuz I say so.”

A flicker of something unsure dashed across Mira’s face as she backed off. Zoey knew the look. It was the kind of expression that said “I want to say this, but I’m scared.”

But then, a shake of Mira’s head cast it away, and Mira leaned back in. “When the people who care about you think you’re a good person, you probably are.”

Zoey did her best not to react too much. Mira didn’t like overreactions to it when she showed her heart. It was always best to pretend nothing big had happened. Making a big thing of it was the easiest way to never see the vulnerability ever again. But, that didn’t stop her heart from going giddy.

You said you care about me!!!

She swallowed the surge of energy that made her want to tackle Mira into a hug. Her gaze fell back onto her notebook in her arms. She cracked it back open. “Thanks, Mira.” She returned to the page,

I’m just scared. If you saw… any of this…that maybe you’d realize how much of a loser I really am.

I just don’t share this kind of stuff. It’s too much. And I don’t want to be too much.

Mira’s right. When people who care about you think you’re good, you are.

What did I do to deserve you two?

The weight felt a little lighter, and she closed the cover. “Okay. I’m gonna head back outside.” She jumped up, tucking the notebook under her arm. 

“Hold up a sec, I’ll join you.” Mira tossed the last bit of kimbap into her mouth before swiping the plates and setting them into the sink.

. . . . . . . . . .

Zoey had always loved doing the columns. Twelve pillars that were scattered in a way that made it almost like a dexterous puzzle. The goal of it was to reach the tallest pillar—about twenty feet high—and get back safely. But to her, this was what she could do. This was her niche. 

The moment Celine started her off, Zoey moved like a human spring. She flew from one column to the other, eyes searching for any surface, feet finding them. As she landed atop the sixth pillar, a dummy was launched.

A memory sprang up in her mind. An old memory. One of the oldest she had of training at the Samctuary:

She wasn’t a fan of heights. Heights, in fact, terrified her. And now, Celine was explaining to her that she would learn how to scale these giant pillars with nothing but jumping and balance? 

Nope. No way. There’s no way I can do this.

She turned toward Mira, who looked just as uncomfortable and about thirty times as irritated. “And how exactly is this supposed to help us kill demons?” She asked.

“If you’re interested in surviving a demon fight, this helps you learn how to move quickly and how to scale difficult architecture. You’re not fighting them in gyms. More often than not, it will be alleyways and old buildings, and you can’t always trust an easy environment.”

She shuddered at the thought of trying to fight off demons in abandoned warehouses. I can’t do this!

She tried to psych herself up. She bounced on the balls of her feet and settled into a position that seemed like a ready one. But the more she urged herself forward, the more stubbornly her legs locked up.

”I can’t do it.” Zoey deflated.

“Yes, you can.” Celine pushed. “Now, go on. Don’t keep us waiting.”

The disappointment in the voice urged her into a shaky jog. She couldn’t be a failure this early. She didn’t jump yet, only stepped onto the first pillar. She braced herself for the second. It was only three feet away and one foot higher. Just a few feet off the ground. It should be fine.

She leapt, and—to her utter shock—she landed it. 

I did it!

She jumped again, a similar distance, the same result.

Can I… do this? 

Carefully she kept moving, jumping, and catching herself on her feet and palms to stop her momentum. Then came a new problem. The next jump was hard. A proper leap of faith was all she could do.

Maybe she was drunk on the confidence, but as she glanced down, she sobered up bitterly. The ground shrank below. The distance was impossible. In reality, she was fifteen feet above it, but the way her stomach twisted made her feel like fifteen feet was more like fifteen miles. 

It’s one leap. Come on!

She leapt, and her organs sank inside her—it wasn’t good enough, and she knew it. Her arms caught the top of the pillar while the rest of her slammed into the side. Her brain promptly split into two thoughts:

Ohgodohgodohgod

DO NOT LET GO!

“Zoey!” Mira yelled. Zoey clung to the pillar for dear life, fingers digging into the ledge on the other side as she heard Mira’s voice turn vicious below her. “This was a stupid idea, she could get hurt! Are you people fucking crazy?” 

She flopped about like a fish out of water—a scrawny kid desperately trying to scramble upward. Through what felt like a herculean feat, she managed to force her feet up until she was scraping her shoes against the wall, desperate for traction.

None came.

Her feet slipped, and she was left dangling again with nothing but a terrible realization:

She was losing her grip. 

She tried any way to haul herself up onto that pillar. Scrambles and grunts of effort from a girl whose muscle content could be dwarfed by that of a chihuahua. It lead to nothing. No cathartic swell of strength came to save her. Her grip failed, and the horrible—horrible—feeling of falling sent her mind into a surge.

She was airborne.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Humans aren’t supposed to be airborne!

The air flew up—no, she was falling. 

Oh god, falling.

Movement stopped. Feet touched solid ground. Hands held her steady—she was grateful, her knees were in the process of buckling.

Her mind finally interpreted the last few moments. Rumi was standing beside her, hands outstretched—Oh, she caught me. I should thank her.

”T-thanks…” Zoey said. She hadn’t felt it before, but her heart was currently trying for a record in beats per minute. Her lungs were trying to keep up. She expected Rumi to say something, but the girl just nodded stiffly and backed away. 

She thinks I’m useless.

She’s totally right.

“Not bad, for a first try.” Celine murmured. “Keep practicing, you’ll get better.”

And better she got:

She summoned her shin-kal with no thought—a sheer reflex. She sent it flying, and it zipped toward the dummy. It slashed through its chest, the dummy jerked in the air from the impact as it crashed back down. 

She leapt toward the side of the tallest pillar, and kicked off it to reach the ninth-tallest. Ha. Skipped two. She mocked the course in her head as her feet again met air. She didn’t look down—down didn’t matter. 

She was going up, and that was where she looked.

Her feet caught and held where she landed, and they left their holds only at her command. Before she knew it, she was at the top.

Only now did she look down. She stepped off the pillar, letting herself fall to a pillar about five feet shorter. She let her knees give a little at the impact. Then, she sprang forward, another shin-kal dragging across a dummy’s throat as she sped by.

She swung her feet in front of her so they slammed into another column, and then she sprang off it to land on one a few feet away, shorter still. The ground was only about an eight foot drop, and she took it with no hesitation. She walked out of the columns, barely having broken a sweat.

“Only two?” She snorted. “C’mon, at least give me a challenge!”

Rumi nudged Mira, and whispered something that elicited a warm chuckle from Mira. “Nice job, Zo.” Rumi praised. “I knew you’d be fine.”

The words caught her like a hook in her chest. It had only been a year. A singular year of training. Sure, it had been grueling, but it still baffled her how immeasurable the changes were.

Her eyes fell to her hands, and trailed up her arms. She smiled a little, seeing muscle tense under her skin. A year ago, her arms were frail sticks, and her legs shook like leaves.

A year ago, she was a nobody who desperately wanted to be anybody. A nothing who blasted music to hide from her life. A speck on Earth who begged bullies to leave her alone, and broke down in tears in bathrooms. 

She wasn’t sure if she was somebody yet.

But she was starting to believe she wasn’t nobody.

Chapter Text

Rumi leaned back against the Dangsam tree, feeling the roughness of the bark dig lightly into her shoulders

One year and two days. That’s how long they’d all been together. A little over a year of everything except consistency. Except that sometimes there had been consistency. Nights spent wrapped in warmth, days spent training and cooking and cleaning. Days spent happy.

But then there were bouts of inconsistency in between. The trip to Seoul, Mira’s parents, Zoey’s trip home. Times when all that warmth had burned.

In an odd sense, the only real consistency had been inconsistency. Or, maybe it had been inconsistently consistent. Or maybe it had just been a year, and it didn’t matter at all if it had been consistent or inconsistent. 

Rumi shook her head in frustration. Consistent doesn’t sound like a word anymore.

She stared up into the leaves of the Dangsam tree, shifting into a new thought. There was something reverent about it. Like there was a tale that could be read from the bark, if only she could figure out the language it was written in. She owed this tree so much, even though it didn’t quite feel like it right now.

As she stared at the bark, searching for inscriptions, she realized there was no need to search for it at all. She already knew its story—or, at least, a version of it.

This massive behemoth of flora had been planted by a member of one of the earliest trios of Hunters. Celine told her the legend many times. The unnamed Hunter had nurtured it in all ways. She carefully tended to it every morning, afternoon, and evening. She slaved over it, clearing the area surrounding it, even singing to it.

One day, many demons attacked the Hunters’ village. While the trio was preoccupied with the horde, another demon split away and attempted to uproot it. Why the demon had done this, nobody knew.

Maybe the demon was simply trying to destroy. Maybe it had seen the Hunter caring for the tree, and knew the plant was special to the Hunter. But Rumi liked the third possibility the best: Maybe the demon saw what the tree was becoming, and thus feared its potential might.

Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. The tree was not destroyed that night. Against all odds, the Hunters managed to slay the stray before it could reach the tree, and defeat the remaining demons. The village had been saved.

Afterward, the Hunter who had planted the tree knelt before it and sang to it, as she always did. The other two hunters joined in. And then, the people of the village were drawn to the song, and they too joined in. Nearly a hundred people sang to the tree that day.

With a hundred souls bolstering it, the Honmoon anchored itself onto that tree. Not quite literally. The tree itself wasn’t vital to the Honmoon, but the Honmoon’s energy was nevertheless imbued within its roots.

And even after the villagers stopped singing, their souls remained in the Honmoon, and the village was not attacked for an entire month. It seemed that, in those days, making it so much as two days without an attack was enough to muster shock.

There was no proof to the legend. Neither name nor date nor record was ever made. It was simply passed down from one trio to the next. Nothing ensured that the story remain unchanged.

It was simply the word of mouth over hundreds of years, from a time when humanity could barely produce a true Honmoon, and when the Hunters were far more hunted than anything else. It was a time in which a “golden honmoon” was sheer fantasy. A time in which foundations were being laid, but far too fragile to stand upon.

Rumi wondered what kind of horror it must have been back then. Celine told her that only in the most recent century did the Honmoon become truly powerful. Before that, it was a desperate scramble to keep it even slightly intact. Only in the immediate presence of all three Hunters could it remain sealed.

Maybe that was a time in which the Honmoon needed an anchor. Maybe having the tree helped it in some way. Rumi liked to think of it that way. And even if the tree wasn’t needed as an anchor anymore, it was undeniable that there was something special about the tree. 

After all, Mira and Zoey didn’t dream about demons. They didn’t dream about Gwi Ma, or battles. Their dreams were of the tree. Zoey’s drawing of it had resonated with Mira, in some way or another.

Resonance. That’s what the tree had. In all the years since it had been planted, every Hunter afterward held a special place in her heart for this tree. Even if the Honmoon forsook the tree, the Hunters most certainly did not.

It was a grounding place to be.

Especially right now, when everything—all the inconsistent consistency or consistent inconsistency—was currently laying in shambles. Her heart had been shattered. And the shards sliced at her fingertips whenever she tried to put it back together.

Zoey wasn’t home. She had left about three hours ago to spend the weekend with her mom. Rumi had known about the trip for over a month. It was planned, and Zoey had been excited for it. Sure, it was painful for Rumi to know she wouldn’t see her friend until next week, but at least she had been expecting Zoey’s departure.

What she hadn’t expected was Mira’s. Nobody learned about that until an hour and an half after Zoey had left.

Mira’s phone rang, and Rumi mostly ignored it, idly listening without quite listening. She vaguely wondered who was calling. Maybe it was Zoey, but she’d only been gone an hour.

That said, Zoey was Zoey.

“What do you want?”

The sharpness in Mira’s voice took Rumi by surprise, but it did tell her one thing: she was definitely not talking to Zoey. She had a pretty good guess as to who it was. Mira tended to use such harsh tones only when talking to her own bloodline.

“Yeah. Relax. I didn’t forget about the contract.” She hissed. Rumi watched her intently now. She saw it as Mira’s breath caught for just a moment. 

“Of course you are.” She whispered in defeat. “Fine. Whatever. See you in an hour.”

She lowered the phone, wrapping both hands around it like she wanted to crush it. Rumi could see her grip tighten around it before Mira held it toward her. “Just take it.” 

Rumi told hold of it, and Mira’s hands retreated to her lap. One hand curled into a fist, which lightly bounced against her knee as she took in a deep breath and released it. Her hair fell forward, shielding her face for a moment before she pulled the lock of pink back into its place.

“Why am I taking this?” Rumi asked cautiously.

“Because the last time my mother called me, I threw it into a fence.” Her voice was tensed under the force of something Rumi couldn’t entirely understand. She knew Mira was quick to anger. But maybe anger had a stronger hold on her than Rumi originally thought.

“They’ll be here in an hour.” She murmured.

What?

“An hour? How? I thought it was… what?”

Mira only shrugged, “They did this kinda thing a lot. Tell me about shit last minute so I couldn’t bolt and get out of it.”

“Would y-“ Rumi was going to ask ‘Would you have even run away?’

But she stopped herself, realizing the question was stupid. She knew how Mira ended up at the Sunlight audition. Of course Mira would have run away if she didn’t want to be somewhere. Running away was the reason she was here.

“Would they really do that?” She asked instead. It was a course correction in the form of a question.

“Yeah. They would. They just did.” Mira tossed her hand up, gesturing at nothing. It fell back to her lap in a quiet defeat. She sat still for a minute, blinking a little too rapidly.

Finally, she stood up with a long, exaggerated sigh. “Guess I better get packing.” 

Rumi wanted to follow. But as she stood to follow, the reality of the situation fell on her like a rock. 

They’re both going away?

She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, and walked to Mira’s room. Mira was acting too calm. Unnaturally relaxed. 

“So… how long do you have to go for?”

“Weekend. Maybe a couple more days.” She shrugged like it was no big deal, but Rumi could see the restraint giving way. The gradual fracturing of the stoniness in her movements.

She grabbed the clothes a little too roughly, and shoved them into her backpack with a little more force than what was necessary. It looked like she was trying to get information out of the backpack zipper.

Silence reigned while Mira shoved a few more things into her backpack. The simmer eased up a little when Mira picked up a crop top with a far too detailed skull caved in by an axe. She smirked at it, and slid it into the first open pocket her hand found. 

“Are you gonna be okay?” Rumi asked.

“Course I will be.” She said with a smirk. It died away as a more serious glint overtook her eyes. “I’ll be fine… It’s just…” She shook her head. “One hour… God…” She scoffed, “fucking cunts!”

Rumi jolted a little hearing that. Mira swore a lot. That was nothing new, she’d done it since the first day Rumi had met her. She’d never heard Mira say that word. To hear it slip now told Rumi that it wouldn’t be fine. At all.

The rest of the hour slid by too quickly, and before she knew it, Rumi was sitting beside Mira on the porch. The backpack sat on the lower step, and they both stared at the ground.

Rumi’s heart twisted around itself as she heard a car’s engine. Please, pass us. Be someone else! Don’t be them. She begged in her mind.

The engine slowed. Mira tensed a little, so slight that Rumi wondered if maybe she imagined it.

The engine’s hum roared as it came into full view. The twisting turned to tearing—she recognized the car—and it pulled into the driveway. The turn signal blinked like a doomsday timer. 

Mira reached down to grab her bag, but Rumi couldn’t let it go like this. She was barely aware of her arms moving until her fingers were together, arms looped around Mira. She wrapped the taller girl up tight.

She wanted nothing more than to never let go—to hold Mira there forever. To hang onto her so that her family couldn’t rip her away. To cling to her like she was something Rumi couldn’t bear to lose.

After all, that’s exactly what Mira was.

After what felt like too long and too short of a hug, they finally pulled apart. Mira smirked just a little, “I’ll be fine.” She whispered. “I can handle ‘em.” And then she stood, bag in hand, and walked over to the car. Each step landed stiffer and stiffer, like she, too, hadn’t wanted to let go.

After that, Rumi was left in solitude. Celine sat with her for a while, talking about something. But Rumi just wasn’t listening. Her mind was jello and the world kept shaking the plate. Rumi didn’t—couldn’t—listen to word of anything. She got up with no warning or explanation, leaving Celine on the porch as she wandered.

That brought her here, to the tree. She didn’t quite know where else to go.

It wasn’t fair. She’d never had a problem being alone before. Or, at least, she didn’t think she did. She was quite good at it. Solitude was her fortress.

And then Zoey and Mira walked into that audition room, and Solitude collapsed. Now that they were gone, she had nowhere to take shelter from the storm of emotions that pelted and burned like acid rain.

I miss them. 

I hate this! I miss them so much!

It’s been thirty minutes, how are you this messed up? They’re coming back, aren’t they?

Of course they’re coming back.

The ground—originally a mosaic of happenstance, a twig there, a rock here—blurred into a brown smudge as a tsunami of tears threatened to burst forth.

They did a moment later, and did so without mercy. Her sleeves were wet with tears she’d scraped away, only for the stream to reforge its path a moment later. She gave up on wiping them away, and instead pulled her sleeves over her palms and pressed them against her eyes. 

She hated herself for it. Zoey didn’t cry when she had to fly across the world. Mira didn’t cry when her horrible family yanked her away with barely an hour’s notice.

You have no right to be this pathetic. Why are you crying?

They’re literally coming back.

What if they don’t?

No, that’s stupid, I know they’re coming back.

She tried to reassure herself, but the thought had surfaced. She knew that, against all reason to ignore it, that the thought would keep eating at her.

Footsteps startled her, and her head jerked up, eyes quickly spotting a figure through the blur of tears. She blinked them away—Oh… that’s what Mira was doing—to see Celine come into focus.

She sat down beside Rumi, glancing up at the tree with a soft, knowing look before she looked at Rumi.

Rumi tried to straighten, tried to look faultless and fearless.

But she was a kid. And kids cry.

The sob ripped through her before she had the chance to stop it, and the tears continued on like they’d never stopped flowing. “I miss my friends.” She choked out. 

Celine didn’t say anything, but Rumi felt the weight of an arm wrap around her. It told her that, for whatever reason, sometimes faults got to exist. 

Some faults.

“What if they don’t come back?” Rumi whispered. For a moment she feared that saying it would will her worst fear into existence. She waited for Celine to tell her just that. That they weren’t. Because it could happen. Maybe they decided once they hit the road that she wasn’t worth it. Maybe they did.

They could have done that.

They wouldn’t do that!

But, theoretically, they could.

And that was enough to terrify her.

“Of course they’re coming back.” Celine answered simply, like there weren’t a million possible ways in which they didn’t. “They’ll both be back by Tuesday. That’s not so bad, is it? Only… what, four days?” Her voice was softer than normal.

I must be a mess if she’s being this nice.

She shook her head. No more crying. Get a grip. 

You’re a hunter.

Your faults and fears must never be seen. 

So stop sobbing like a baby! You’re a hunter!

She picked her head up, and—a little too roughly—raked her sleeves across her cheeks until they were dry. She felt the heat as blood surged under the skin.

She didn’t pay it any mind, and instead put her full focus into mashing down the lump in her throat. She swallowed it like a bitter pill until it couldn’t choke her up anymore. Once she was collected, she looked at Celine. Only for a second. “I know. You’re right.” She answered.

Celine rubbed her shoulder a little, “I wanted to give this to you earlier, but—ah—things kept coming up.” She picked up a black box from her side, and Rumi stared at it, her eyes struggling to believe what was in Celine’s hands. 

In the center of the top was S8 in blue bold. She tilted her head to read smaller, white text in the top left corner. 

“Samsung galaxy…” She murmured, tapering off as the words registered with a meaning. “Wait… you got me a phone?” Rumi gawked. Is this real? 

“I figured you might want to keep in touch with them while they were gone.” Celine nudged the box a little closer, and Rumi took it in both hands. She cradled it like it would break if she breathed wrong.

Celine then stood, “Let’s go get it set up, and you can give them a call.”

Rumi stared again at the box. It was so… sleek. It was new, and it had a power she’d never had before. She only really learned how to use phones from Mira’s and Zoey’s. 

She was on her feet in an instant, and she bolted toward the trail to the hanok. The weight that had been crushing her minutes ago was levied by the prospect of hearing their voices. 

Maybe it was okay to miss them right now.

As long as she didn’t lose them forever.

Chapter Text

She couldn’t say goodbye to Rumi. She’d spent the last hour forcing herself not to cry, not to be angry, not to fuck up. If she turned around, it would all crumble. 

And she couldn’t let that happen. Not while they were staring through the windshield at her. She wondered what they saw. Did they see how much happier she was here? Or did they only see a rebellious problem with violent tendencies and outlandish hair?

She knew the answer. She stepped into the car, only daring to look at Rumi through tinted windows. Even then, knowing Rumi couldn’t see her in the backseat, her heart was too crowded with feelings. She dug her nails into her palm.

I’m not going to cry.

Her father shifted the car in reverse, and they backed out of the driveway. She stared at the floor, already counting the minutes until she got to come home—not to her parents house. Back to the Sanctuary. It was more than a home, really. Zoey had parents that loved her—parents who weren’t ashamed of their daughter. Rumi didn’t really have that, but Celine had been better recently. Plus, Rumi loved the Sacntuary. To her, it was home.

For Mira, it literally was a Sanctuary. A safe haven from which she could escape her blood. It hurt to watch it disappear behind trees as they car rolled down the mountain.

Two minutes went by without incident. 

“The traffic in Seoul was terrible this morning…”

Her nerves felt tense already, but she couldn’t understand why. They hadn’t even done anything yet. It seemed insane that she already felt angry.

Play nice. They haven’t done anything. Yet.

“Sorry to hear that.” Mira replied, trying to be genuine. 

A shrug came from her mother in passenger seat. She didn’t know exactly what it meant, so she didn’t answer further, hoping they’d just ignore her for the rest of the trip.

“So, Mira.”

So much for that.

“Yeah?”

“Whoa, it’s ’Yes sir.’ Use proper titles when you’re addressing someone older than you.” Her father scolded. The fire jolted to life like it had never died. The flame roasted her insides with indignant spite.

“I got a better name for you.” Mira muttered under her breath. She was almost thankful for his impeccable timing—right when she’d been feeling guilty for thinking they’d be dicks, he gave her a justification for the fire under her ribs.

She was getting very tired of that fire. She thought about when she was a kid, and the rage was all she had. She did anything and everything to make it bigger and bigger, hoping someday someone would finally notice she was burning alive, and throw something over it to stifle the inferno.

Aera hadn’t been able to banish the flames, but she’d taught Mira how to hold them without getting burned so badly. How to lessen the blaze of a fire that wouldn’t die.

But she was older now. She’d found something good. Something she didn’t want the fire to touch. And maybe in the past she hated herself enough to think that she deserved to be burned. But she’d found the guts to try and like herself, and try to be someone more caring, less explosive. 

They had gotten her there. Rumi and Zoey. Whatever the hell it was that bound them, it was Mira’s salvation. Her only fear was that it was all too good to be true. She was, ever so slowly, believing that maybe she deserved the pair of them as her family.

But being back here had reversed it all. She was back to being the one and only problem. Once again, she felt like she’d never left that old school, never left that house. In a flash she was back to being Mira the Menace. And so, the fire raged on like it missed licking at her nerves with a coarse tongue. 

“As I was saying,” Her father continued, “This weekend I have some business deals to attend to. Why don’t you come with me?”

An innocent question. It almost sounded like one, but Mira knew better. It was an order. Unfortunately, there was only one place where she’d follow orders. And they’d just left the driveway.

Some call it teenage angst. Others call it mischief. Others still would call it disobedience. Mira called it honesty. The dead to rights truth. 

“I have no interest in doing that.”

She expected the fight. The ‘Now you listen here, we didn’t raise you so you could cast shame on our family, blah-blah-blah.’ But nothing came of it. No battle.

“We can figure something else out, then.”

Huh? She blinked. Wh—huh??

“R—really?” She didn’t mean to genuinely question it. “You’re not… gonna force me?”

He sighed, “No. It’s up to you.”

‘up to you’??

She didn’t know what to do with that. She was expecting to fight tooth and nail against whatever leash they put on her this weekend. She was ready to go to war for every step. She was not prepared to be allowed to walk freely.

It’s a trap. Has to be.

“Yeah… we can… figure something out.” She said, all certainty having been left for dead in the rearview mirror. She could almost picture the remains left behind. 

. . . . . . . . . .

The arrival home was lukewarm. She stepped inside, her eyes scanning the walls for differences. She noticed a photo of her that hadn’t been there before. Then a second. A third. As she moved toward her room, she searched for them now, having caught the thread. By the time she was at her bedroom door she’d found six new portraits that included her.

It’s a trap. Don’t fall for it. The other foot’s gonna drop.

She winced at herself.

It always does. Don’t go soft.

She pulled her phone out of her bag—Shit. Forgot to charge it.

She plugged it in, and while it regained life, she unpacked her clothes. She pulled out the crop top—her parents hated this shirt. Her plan was to wear it the moment they pissed her off.

She shoved it into the back of her dresser drawer, along with the shard of guilt for bringing it. She picked up her phone, only to see a missed call from a number she didn’t recognize. Six missed calls, actually. Then a bunch of texts:

010–####—####

Hi Mira! It’s Rumi

Celine gave me a phone

Can you believe it?

I tried calling

Are you okay?

Celine gave her a phone? Wow… Mira smiled as she quickly replied: 

010–####—####

Are you okay?

Dude that’s awesome!

Sorry, my phone was dead

Am ok

She added Rumi’s contact and called her. She answered in half a ring.

“Mira!” Her voice flew through the phone like she hadn’t heard it in years. In reality, she’d heard it only about four or five hours ago.

“Hey, Ru.” Mira’s mouth twitched upward involuntarily.

“How’s it going?”

“Honestly? Not as bad as I thought… which is kinda more concerning…” She murmured. “I don’t know… They’re being weirdly nice.”

A sharp tapping against her door drew her focus, “Hey, Rumi?”

“Yeah?”

“I gotta go, but I’ll call you after dinner?” She felt a nervous tick in the back of her throat, like Rumi might say ‘Actually…’ and some reason she should never call again. She shrugged it away. Rumi wouldn’t do that.

“Yeah, call me then. I still gotta call Zoey, anyway. Okay… um…” Rumi went quiet for a moment, as if thinking about something a little too hard, “Bye-bye.” Her voice flowed through the phone, and then a second later, the call screen disappeared.

The knocking at the door repeated itself.

“Yea—Yes?” She called out. The door cracked open, and her mother stepped in. “Settled back in?”

Mira shook off the realization that her mother had actually waited for her to respond before barging in. Instead of calling any attention to it, she nodded as though nothing of interest happened, “Yeah, just about.” She took another glance around her room. Something about it was different, but she couldn’t really place what. 

“We were discussing dinner, and we want your input.”

Mira nodded. This is weird.

“Is Aera making it?”

“Aera’s off tonight.”

“Oh.” Her heart truly sank at that. She’d wanted to see her. 

I’ll go over later. Just to say hi.

“How about bibimbap?” She asked. “Rumi and I did a lot of cooking together, I’ve got a pretty good recipe.” She smiled a little at the memory of them cooking together. Maybe it would be a chance to show them that—contrary to their belief—she did actually possess a few life skills.

“Don’t you thi—” Her mother stopped midsentence. “Wouldn’t you rather relax a little? We did just have a long drive, after all.”

Admittedly, she was kind of tired. And the way her mom was saying it sounded more like a proposition than a command. Advice rather than lecture. She nodded… “I guess… maybe I can show you the recipe tomorrow.”

“Yes, maybe tomorrow. For tonight, I will let the chefs know bibimbap is on the menu.” Her mother turned and left. Mira was about to get up to close her door when she heard the familiar click of the mechanism. 

She closed it?

Her phone rang again before she could really think any further. She glanced at the caller ID. “Hey, Z-”

“YOUR PARENTS STOLE YOU???”

“Jesus, Zoey, inside voice!” Mira whined through the earthquake of noise that had just torn through her eardrum. “Y-yeah, they called me after you left. I was gonna call you, but my phone died… it was a whole thing. How’d you find out?”

“Rumi told me! What the heck! I swear to God if I ever see your folks I’ll—”

“Zo, slow down! They’re not… actually being bad. They seem really different.” She admitted. “And it’s just for the weekend. We both go home on Tuesday.”

“Rumi’s completely alone?” Zoey’s voice was sharp with an empathetic grief.

“I guess we all are for the next few days.” The silence that followed was too much for the room to hold. Mira grasped at straws to break it. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s good. We’re just sorta… yknow, chilling.”

“How’re you?”

“I miss you guys… but it’s good to see my eomma again. She’s always so busy with her diner. I’m surprised she even took any days off.”

“I didn’t know she ran a diner.” Mira noted. She added with a smirk, “How are you not better at cooking?”

“I can’t focus on that stuff. You and Rumi do the focusing. I invent the flavor profile.”

“It’s definitely an invention when you do it.” Mira snarked.

“You two said you liked my seasoning ideas!”

She laughed a little, falling back into her bed. “Yeah, we do. Goofy as they are.”

“Are we pathetic? We literally saw each other earlier today.” Mira asked.

“Doesn’t count.” Zoey insisted. “Initial departure is thirty hours in the mind’s time.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s a fundamental truth of the universe.”

“Okay. Well, my fundamental truth of the universe is that I’m hungry.” Mira rolled off her bed and walked over to her door, “So, I do have to go…”

“If they get mean, I’ll kill them.”

“You know what? I believe you.”

“Happy dinner!”

“See you, Zo.”

Mira tucked her phone into her pocket and strolled down the hallway, past a couple of the portraits of herself that were suddenly worthy of display. She still didn’t trust any of it. It reminded her of a snake. The kindness and understanding were bright colors, and the lethal bite was coming.

She was about to walk downstairs when she heard Jiho’s voice.

“We broke up, Dad. We just didn’t want the same things.” 

Her mind fluttered back to her birthday. The letter Jiho had written. She remembered it was crammed into her backpack—why she had packed it, she had no idea. 

She felt it unfair to face him, not knowing what it had said. She backed up and returned to her room, quickly tearing open the letter:

Mira,

I know you probably hate me. I don’t hate you. I just… look, I talked to Mom and Dad. They’re willing to try—for you, I mean.

So… I guess we’re trying to find time to come and pick you up for a visit. I don’t know when yet, otherwise I’d tell you.

I hope you’ve had a good time, and hope to see you soon, sis.

—Jiho

Her hands tightened against the paper a little. Ever since the car had appeared in the driveway, everything had been not quite right. These people in her house weren’t the people she grew up with. She felt insane. 

Why was she ticked off at this letter? Jiho had finally said something nice!

Isn’t that what you wanted?

You wanted Father to let you choose.

You wanted Mother to close your door.

You wanted Jiho to be kind.

So why are you annoyed now that you’re getting everything you wanted?

She didn’t want to be annoyed. She had no reason to be. And she was tired. So, so tired of always feeling like another foot was going to drop. Like she was suspended in freefall, waiting for her impact of the ground.

What if the shoe wasn’t dropping? What if the ground wasn’t looming? What if she could have her family? That was all she wanted. Why was she always expecting them to stomp their feet on top of her? Maybe—just maybe—they really changed.

She stepped down the stairs with a calculated relaxation that didn’t belong. As she turned toward the sound of chatter filling her ears. It was a chatter which she’d never gotten to be a part of before. And as she stepped into the living room, and eyes fell on her, the world felt bizarre. She’d always felt like she was on the other side of an unseen wall. She took a few steps forward, waiting to run into it.

But she didn’t. She passed the center of the room and sat down in an armchair, “What were we talking about?”

“Just the business stuff, I’m sure you don’t wanna hear about it.” Her father waved it off, “I get that it’s not your interest.”

She smiled—for real— at her father. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. She shoved down the feeling like she was placing her foot in a noose. “It’s okay, Dad, I don’t mind.”

If her father was making such an effort, she could too. If they were trying, she could try.

And maybe they’d get to be a family.

Chapter Text

Zoey smiled as she watched her grandmother eat. The smile was meant for herself—she’d finally remembered that dumb rule about letting the eldest eat first.

She did everything perfectly this time. Not that it earned her any credit. It just didn’t earn her any discredit. She already missed the Sanctuary. There, when she made that mistake, it was laughed off. It didn’t really count. 

Here, her grandmother took it as an insult instead of an accident.

Like you’d get it all perfect if you went to the States. She thought. But you wouldn’t even dare to try it.

“Eomma, how’s the diner?” Zoey asked.

“We had more customers today than ever before! Ah, aegiya my sweetheart, it’s the best thing that could have happened.”

“That’s great!” She was happy for her mom—at least something not terrible resulted from the divorce.

“You would have done it sooner had you not wasted time on that joke of a man. Should have married a good, Korean gent.” Her grandmother muttered

“Ay, eomma…” Eomma groaned.

Zoey lowered her head. She wasn’t ashamed of herself. Being half-American and half-Korean wasn’t shame worthy. She knew that. She had been telling herself that her whole life.

But then her own grandmother would say something like that, and shame she shouldn’t have would creep up the back of her neck. If marrying someone who wasn’t Korean was bad, something had to be wrong with not being Korean, at least in her grandmother’s eyes.

“Take a note, Soyi. If you have half of my brains somewhere in you, you’ll find a good, Korean man and have lots of children to take care of you when you get old.” 

Zoey winced at the name. When she was born, her eomma told her that they’d decided to use an American name for her, because they wanted her to fit in better. When she was seven, she went to Korea, and her eomma told her she could use her name or a Korean version of it.

Zoey chose her normal name. After all, she liked her name. Why would she have any reason to be ashamed of it? Why would any seven year old have any reason to think anything poorly about their name?

She was too young to understand at the time. When she arrived in Korea, she did so with a skateboard and baggy jeans with oversized shirts. Not to mention, an American accent so thick that she could barely stumble through the few Korean words she understood. Her eomma’s family saw Zoey as some American punk.

Especially her grandmother. She was a woman who had been born in the depths of World War II’s aftermath, and was barely a teen in 1950 when the Korean War had broken out.

It was only through her visits to Korea that Zoey had learned about the Korean War. Right before she left for the Sunlight audition, her history teacher had brought it up in the springtime. It was… messy, but most of what she’d learned told her America was helping the South Koreans against North Korea. She’d learned that North Korea was the bad guy, and mostly everyone seemed to agree about that

Her grandmother, however, did not. She hated Americans. And when her miracle child—Zoey’s eomma—was born some twenty, twenty-five years after the war’s end, Zoey guessed her grandmother didn’t expect that miracle daughter to run off to America with a US Marine.

To say the least, it made dinners… uncomfortable. Especially when her grandmother called her by a name she had never chosen. It was another way that she was too much of the wrong thing. Too American. Not Korean enough. “Soyi” was a little closer to being Korean enough for her grandmother.

I’m not Soyi.

“It’s Zoey.” Zoey muttered. “Not Soyi.”

“Same difference. At least one is—”

I told you that’s not my name! 

Zoey had never let it slip before. She’d always kept her head down and just nodded along. She’d let that shame stitch itself through her lips and sew them shut.

But something inside her snapped, and her throat took the two words she’d always wanted to say, and whipped them out mercilessly. 

“It’s Zoey!” She shouted.

She knew she had screwed up the moment she spoke. Her outburst landed like spark on a powder keg, and now the room hung in a limbo. Nobody knew if an explosion would come, only that, if it did, it would be disastrous.

Six sets of eyes were on her. Her eomma’s, her grandmother’s, aunt’s, uncle’s, and both her cousins’. All eyes stuck on the her: the metaphorical rock in the shoe. The disturbance.

“My name is Zoey.” She repeated it like a reassurance to herself that she was allowed to insist on it. 

The eyes stayed on her. She wished for nothing more than to shrink into the back of that chair and vanish from existence. Indirectly, she got her wish when her phone rang. She grabbed it and, hoping it was Mira, felt her heart sink at the sight of an unknown number.

Whatever. It’ll get me out of here.

“Excuse me.” She jumped up and ran to the guest room—technically, it was her room, but it had always felt like a guest room. She glanced at the number again, her thumb hovering over the answer button.

It’s definitely just a spam call.

She clicked answer, “Hello?”

“Zoey?”

Huh?

“Wait…Rumi?” Zoey glanced at the phone a third time. It wasn’t Celine or Mira’s number. “Did you get a phone?”

“Celine got it for me!”

“That’s so cool! Oh my gosh, Mira must have been psyched! Did she show you how to download games and stuff?” Zoey asked. She gravitated toward the bed, “I wish I was there to see it! Tell Mira to send pictures!”

Silence on the other line twisted a knot in Zoey’s stomach.

“Um… Mira’s… not actually here.”

“What? Where is she?” Zoey asked. 

Don’t tell me she went home.

She shouldn’t go home.

“Rumi, where is she???”

“Her pare—”

Parents.

“Shit!” Zoey shrieked. Too loudly. 

Eomma definitely heard me… I’ll pay for that later…

“Mira’s with her family?!?! This is so bad! Why did you guys let her—” A thought of the answer cut her off.

The contract. 

Of course, she realized. The contract had a visitation clause. Mira had talked about in passing, but Zoey didn’t really ever confront the reality of it. Mira had to go home eventually.

“Gah! That stupid contract!” She muttered. “Oh God… Okay, Rumi, I—oh… um…” She ran her hand through her hair, trying to straighten out her thoughts. “Okay… I’m so happy you have a phone! That is so fantastically wonderful!”

She took half a breath before continuing, “I need to hang up like right now and call Mira. So—yeah, I gotta do that. Call you back?”

“Oka-”

“Okaygreatiloveyouiloveyoubye!” She quickly clicked out of the call and mashed her thumb against Mira’s contact before clicking the call button.

One ring.

Two rings.

The fingernail of her thumb found its way between her teeth.

Three rings.

Fo-

“Hey, Z—”

Zoey didn’t let her finish, “YOUR PARENTS STOLE YOU???” She yelled into the phone. 

“Jesus, Zoey, inside voice!” Mira yelped. There was a beat of silence before her voice came back: “Y-yeah, they called me after you left. I was gonna call you, but my phone died… it was a whole thing.”

That’s a fair reason. That’s a completely fair reason. 

“How’d you find out?”

She forced the sting of being left out from her mind. But she couldn’t get irrational and upset now. Mira was in far worse a place than she was. Mira protected them all the time. She wasn’t going to make Mira protect her feelings right now.

“Rumi told me! What the heck! I swear to God if I ever see your folks I’ll—” Words spilled out of her like her brain didn’t know what else to do.

“Zo, slow down! They’re not… actually being bad. They seem really different.” She admitted. “And it’s just for the weekend. We both go home on Tuesday.”

Wait… Rumi!