Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The afternoon was lazy, heavy with warmth. The Honmoon, though saved, wasn’t bathed in gold. But for now, that was enough. The sky stretched endlessly above, too blue, too vivid. Not a single cloud on the horizon. The heat was stifling, brutal. Sunlight poured over the windows like melted honey. Light clung to everything. To the walls, the wrinkled sheets, the warm floor of the balcony. The room still carried the scent of what had just happened: sex, sweat, and breath.

Zoey lay on the pale wooden floor, her back against a towel she’d grabbed without thinking. She was still panting, lightly. Her breath had settled, but not fully. Her body hadn’t yet recovered from the storm that had just passed through it. She wore a white tank top, nearly translucent from the heat, and a pair of cotton panties, borrowed from Mira or Rumi, she couldn’t remember. Her hair stuck to the nape of her neck, her bangs had fallen across her forehead in disarray. A swollen bite mark adorned her right shoulder.

Mira wasn’t there. She had left early that morning for a perfume shoot, leaving Zoey and Rumi alone. They had lingered in bed for a long time before Zoey gave in, to the pull of suspended time, the weight of a body against hers, a breath brushing her ear.

The sliding glass door opened with a soft hush, and Rumi appeared. She walked barefoot, an ice pop in hand. Her cheeks still held a flush of pink. She wore an oversized t-shirt. The same one she’d pulled on carelessly as she left the sheets behind. Her bare legs looked longer than usual, more fragile.

“Not moving anymore?” Rumi asked, a crooked smile on her lips.

“I’m dying,” Zoey replied, turning her head toward her.

“Here. Peace offering. Lime.”

Rumi, triumphant, held out the ice pop. Zoey grabbed it greedily. Then Rumi dropped down beside her with a long, contented sigh. Without a word, Zoey curled up next to her, resting her head on her bare thighs. The popsicle was already melting in her hand. It was her favorite flavor. Rumi knew that by heart. Zoey let her fingers drift lightly across her girlfriend’s skin, absentminded, until they brushed the pale marks running along Rumi’s arms. The sunlight caught them, turning them silver in some places, pearly in others.

It was the first time she truly looked at them. The first time she dared to give them her attention. Before, she’d only glimpsed them, guessed at them beneath clothes, beneath motion. But here, in the stillness, in the blinding sun, she looked. She saw. And in touching them, she began to understand.

The marks weren’t ugly. Quite the opposite. They followed delicate lines, as though someone had painted her body with light. They were there, undeniable. Witnesses to everything Rumi had hidden for so long.

Zoey traced them slowly with the tip of her finger, soft, reverent. Rumi said nothing. She didn’t move. She just watched.

“Does it hurt?” Zoey whispered.

Rumi looked down at her arms.

“No. But they… react, sometimes. When a breach opens in the Honmoon, I can feel them tremble. Like they know before I do.”

Zoey nodded, eyes lowered. Silence fell. Rumi sensed her unease and leaned in to place a kiss on her temple.

“What are you thinking about, Zoey?”

The question split Zoey in two. Tears surged instantly, without warning. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to keep control. She drew in a long breath.

“You. That day. I… I think about it every night. That moment. Your scream. Your face. Mira… what we almost did.”

Her fingers froze against Rumi’s skin. The words she wanted to say were too heavy. Too bitter. She half-sat up, just enough to bury her face in the hollow of Rumi’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m sorry I raised my weapons. That I doubted you. I should’ve… protected you. Loved you better. I feel so guilty. You mean everything to me…”

Her voice broke. Rumi watched her silently, a steady hand resting on her shoulder.

“Mira and I… we shouldn't have reacted like that…”

“You were scared,” Rumi said gently, her grip tightening slightly. “You both were. I understand.”

“You're what we were taught to hate. I… I understand why you kept quiet. Why you didn’t tell us.”

Gently, Rumi placed her fingers under Zoey’s chin and lifted her face. She wanted her to look. To see. It would have been easier to say it didn’t matter. But this moment called for truth.

“I wanted to tell you, you know? So many times. Almost every day.”

Zoey saw it then, in her eyes. The weight she had carried for so long. Rumi’s voice trembled once, barely.

“It was Celine who forbade it. She thought… the patterns would disappear one day. That the Honmoon, once it turned gold, would purify me. Strip that part of me away.”

The words hung in the hot air between them. Zoey couldn’t respond. There was nothing she could say, except to apologize again. So instead, she gently touched a mark along Rumi’s collarbone, traced it with her finger up to her cheek. A gesture of forgiveness. A gesture of love.

“Is that why you distanced yourself from her?”

“No. She wanted me to be normal. To become normal. I left because… she never accepted me. She was ashamed. Not just of what I am, but of what I represent. She raised me to succeed her. To protect the Honmoon. And what irony… a half-demon huntress?”

Rumi’s marks were glowing faintly now, a soft violet beneath her skin. She was struggling not to let her emotions win. Since Gwi-Ma’s defeat, she’d kept herself in check, afraid of what might slip through if she didn’t.

“She took me in for the Honmoon,” she repeated. “And maybe, a little, for my mother. But not for me. Not for the girl I was.”

“Rumi…” Zoey said softly. “She loves you…”

But the words caught in her throat. She couldn’t finish. She didn’t want to believe that Celine had never loved her. The same Celine who had always been so kind to Mira and herself. Rumi reached out and wiped away her tears with a tenderness that felt almost old, worn, like it had been waiting to be used for a long time. She didn’t seem angry. Just tired. Sad, in a way that had deep roots.

She pressed her lips together, but her voice remained calm.

“No. I talked to her. Right after you two found out… She wouldn’t... It's too difficult to explain.”

Rumi stopped. Her face contorted with pain. Her jaw tightened. And Zoey, for once, said nothing. She understood that some wounds couldn’t be mended by love alone, not in a single afternoon. She wanted to ask. She was burning to ask. But she stayed silent.

They remained there like that for a long while, as the sun dipped slowly behind the rooftops. Their skin still touched. Neither dared move. They breathed the same air. They shared the same silence.

Chapter Text

The sky had turned ochre. The Honmoon, still calm, was vibrating faintly. A tepid light filled the apartment. In the living room, the heat of the afternoon still lingered, caught in the cushions and curtains. Nothing could disturb the quiet of this early evening. Only the birds could be heard through the open window, the low rumble of cars down in the street, and the faint trickle of water somewhere, maybe a pipe.

Rumi had taken a shower and hadn’t come out of her room since. Before Zoey left, she had kissed the inside of her wrist and smiled at her. A sad smile, heavy. Zoey had wanted to stay beside her. To tell her again how sorry she was, how much she mattered to her. But Rumi had squeezed her hand gently and whispered:

“Rest. I need it too.”

So Zoey had gone to the living room. She’d dozed off on the rug, her forehead pressed to a slightly rough cushion. The taste of ice cream had faded on her lips, and Rumi’s scent on her fingers was slipping away. A hundred questions circled in her mind. She was waiting for Mira. Waiting for someone to confide in. Someone to share the weight with.

When the door opened in a soft clatter of keys, Zoey didn’t move. A light step. Deliberate. The sound of a bag being set down.

“I’m home.”

Mira’s voice: familiar, low, steady. She took off her shoes without a sound. When she saw Zoey curled up in the dim light, she paused.

“Are you sleeping?” she asked softly, not wanting to wake her if she was.

Zoey opened one eye. A tired smile crept onto her lips. She’d missed Mira. She sat up.

“Not really.”

Mira smiled back. Her tall figure stood silhouetted against the fading light. She was still wearing the makeup from the photoshoot. Her light linen shirt was open at the collar. She was beautiful. On her, even elegance looked accidental. She crossed the room and knelt beside Zoey, unable to hide how relieved she was to be home. She leaned in and held her tightly.

“You’re home late”, Zoey murmured against her neck.

“They dragged the shoot out. Again. Four different perfumes. I’m apparently supposed to embody light, fear, strength, and the fucking dawn mist. I didn’t get a damn thing.”

Zoey chuckled softly. But her smile didn’t last. It cracked almost immediately. Mira saw it. She frowned.

“Did something happen?”

“Rumi…” whispered Zoey.

“Where is she?”

Mira tensed instantly. She feared the worst. That something terrible had happened.

“In her room. She needs to be alone.”

Zoey stood and headed to the kitchen without a word, grabbing their two favorite mugs. She boiled water and started making tea, simple jasmine and honey. She needed something to do with her hands.
At first, Mira just stood there, caught off guard. Then she followed.

“Tea?”

Zoey nodded slightly as she poured the brew into the mugs.

“Are you okay? Did you two fight?”

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Mira took the mug Zoey offered. Her girlfriend took a deep breath.

“No… We talked. On the balcony. Right after we…”

She bit her lip with an awkward smile. Mira nodded. No need for details.

“I apologized. For what we did that night. We could’ve hurt her… I mean, physically. Mentally… we broke her.”

Mira said nothing. But her fingers tightened around the mug. She felt it too, that shame. She wished she had been there. Wished she could’ve spoken to Rumi. The porcelain burned her fingers, but it kept her anchored. Kept the flood of thoughts at bay.
Zoey swallowed hard.

“She told me. Celine always told her not to say anything. That the marks would fade.”

“Celine…? Wait, are you telling me Celine knew? All along?”

Zoey nodded slowly.

“And she told her to stay quiet?”

Again, Zoey nodded, avoiding her eyes. She could see Mira’s temper rising.

“Fuck.”

Mira clenched her jaw. She was hurt. Angry. She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. She didn’t know what to say.
She’d always envied the mother-daughter bond between Celine and Rumi. It was hard to believe Celine could advise her daughter so badly. After all, if Rumi hadn’t hidden the marks, if they’d known from the start… humanity might not have come that close to the edge.

“I… I always admired her, you know?” Mira murmured. “Celine. She was the mother I always wished I had.”

Zoey knew. She’d seen it before, the way Mira looked at Celine and Rumi. A gaze filled with tenderness, yes, but also sorrow. Something soft, almost wistful. In the early days, she would’ve killed to be in Rumi’s place.

“Mira… She’s the one who taught her to be ashamed. Since she was a kid. She’s the one who made her hate that part of herself.”

Mira’s breath caught. Unthinkable. The sacred bond between Rumi and Celine, just a façade? Celine had always been kind to her. Warm, attentive, patient. But her own experience had blinded her. Her relationship with her own mother had skewed everything.

Zoey went on, more softly now, as if afraid Rumi might hear, or as if speaking the truth aloud might make it all too real.

“She told me Celine never really accepted her. Not completely. She wanted someone to carry on after her, to protect the Honmoon. And that someone happened to be Rumi.”

Mira closed her eyes. A painful line formed between her brows. She was thinking. Turning it over in her mind.

“Do you think it’s true?” Zoey asked, voice tight with worry. “Do you think she doesn’t loves her?”

Mira shook her head gently.

“She loved her. She loves her. Just… badly.”

Zoey took a sip of tea. She winced: it was too hot. She spoke again, heavy-hearted:

“And now they’re not speaking anymore.”

“And we still don’t know why…”

“Actually…” Zoey said, guilty, “They saw each other. After we… After we pushed her away. I don’t know exactly what happened between them, but it’s partly on us.”

Mira silently moved toward the bay window. Outside, it was getting dark. She had to squint to see past her reflection.

“I think we need to talk to Celine”, Zoey said firmly.

Mira raised her eyebrows.

“And say what? That we’ll play mediators when we don’t even understand half of what’s going on between them?”

“Exactly. We don’t understand. And Rumi can’t say more… I… I need to know. So Rumi can breathe again.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Zoey…”

“We won’t lie. We won’t hide anything. We just won’t tell her right away. I just want to understand what happened that night. After everything came out. There’s a hole in the story. Something… heavy. I feel so helpless, Mira. Rumi barely leaves her room. She barely speaks. She needs Celine. She needs us. I know it’s intrusive. But… we have to understand if we want to help her. And if it doesn’t come from her, it’ll have to come from Celine.”

Mira turned to Zoey, letting out a frustrated sigh that almost sounded like a growl.

“Fine.”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you.”

Zoey stepped toward Mira and took her hands, not quite daring to squeeze them. On the counter, the tea was already going cold.
They weren’t going to drink it.

“I’ll make us something to eat”, Mira said at last. “Go get Rumi.”

Chapter Text

Celine's office had always been impeccably tidy. Rigorously so. Almost to an austere degree.
Nothing was ever out of place. The books stood in precise alignment on dark wooden shelves. Folders were stacked neatly, sorted by urgency, hidden behind cabinet doors. The large windows let in the morning sunlight, a light so pale and white it gave the room a sterile, clinical clarity. The walls were bare, tastefully minimal, adorned with a few carefully hung photographs: portraits of the Sunlight Sisters, and frozen moments from the early days of Rumi, Zoey, and Mira’s careers. Their faces, so full of innocence, of promise. Everything was too smooth. Too perfect.

But that day, something was wrong.
There were signs, subtle, but present. A used cup teetered atop a closed notebook. An uncapped pen lay forgotten on the desk's edge. The scent of recently burned incense lingered in the air, its wisps curling in the corners of the room where time itself seemed to pause. It felt as though Celine had tried to maintain order, but didn’t have the strength to truly enforce it.

On the desk, a few faded photos were strewn about. One showed Rumi, much younger, perhaps no more than ten. She looked calm, composed, dressed in a training uniform, her fists wrapped in cloth. Even frozen in time, her gaze held a fierce determination. It was the kind of look that pierced things. Or people.

Mira remained standing. She had declined the offered chair with a subtle shake of her head. Zoey, on the other hand, had sat down, back straight, hands folded tightly on her knees. Celine hadn’t insisted. She stood behind her desk like someone bracing behind a wall. But it wasn’t authority she exuded. It was protection. Her hands were clasped as usual, but there was none of the calm confidence she used to carry. Her posture seemed smaller, her shoulders hunched forward, her face worn. She looked older, or perhaps, she'd simply stopped pretending she wasn’t tired long ago.

Since they had entered, silence had stretched between them, drawn thin like a taut string, ready to snap.
Only the ticking of the wall clock marked time, stubborn and indifferent.

Zoey spoke first. Her voice was low, measured, but clearly strained.

“You probably know why we’re here.”

A flicker passed over Celine’s jaw, barely visible, but there. She answered with a small nod. Still, she said nothing.

“We came to talk about Rumi,” Mira added, already growing impatient.

“You’re not speaking to each other anymore,” Zoey said more gently.

A beat. Celine closed her eyes for a second. As if taking a hit.

“You’re not speaking, and we don’t understand,” Zoey continued. “Rumi… she needs help. She needs to feel surrounded. To have people who love her near. To support her. To show her it’s okay.”

“That she doesn’t need to hide who she is,” Mira added, her voice colder.

Celine had been fidgeting with her fingers, but stopped. Her gaze locked with Mira’s. For the first time, she saw something sharp in her eyes. Almost anger.

“So she told you everything,” she murmured.

“No,” said Mira. “Not everything. Just that you always told her to hide who she was. That–”

“She told us you believed her marks would disappear,” Zoey interrupted, her voice calmer, more diplomatic. She didn’t like confrontation. And they weren’t here to start one.

“Is that true?”

“Yes, I believed that. I still do. Once the Honmoon is turned golden… the marks will fade. As will her… her demonic nature. It has to,” she whispered. “For her. She’s afraid of herself.”

A chill passed through Mira.

“For god’s sake, Celine! Of course she’s afraid. You taught her that! Why did you make her hide the truth from us? You cut her off from us. From love. You were ashamed, weren’t you? You never looked at her as your daughter.”

Mira had erupted, suddenly, fiercely. Even Zoey hadn’t seen it coming. She stared at her partner, wide-eyed.

“That’s not true.”

Celine hadn’t raised her voice, but the weight of her words silenced the room. She rose slowly, standing at eye level with Mira. She held her gaze for a moment, then stepped toward the window. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes shimmered.

“I loved her. I did what I could. I tried to raise her with fairness. To give her a dignified life. I wanted to protect her.”

Before Mira could respond, Zoey spoke softly:

“Then why? Why make her carry that silence?”

The question hung in the air. Zoey pressed on.

“She’s spent her whole life hating who she is. Because of that shame. Because of that silence.”

Celine didn’t reply. The young women couldn’t see her face; she stood with her back to them, staring at the skyline beyond the glass.

“You taught her to hate herself,” Mira’s voice cracked. “All she ever wanted was your love. Your respect. So why…”

“Because she reminded me of her father.”

The words fell. Bare. Heavy.
Celine turned to them, her eyes glistening, her shoulders slumped, as if the weight of her confession had broken her in two. Mira gasped in disbelief. Both women stared at her, shaken. Zoey opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“Rumi… I love her. From the moment I held her, I loved her. But part of me… a part of me never stopped seeing what she took from me. What he took from me. I couldn’t get past it.”

“Took what from you?” Zoey asked, barely audible.

“Mi-yeong… her mother. We found each other young. She had this light in her, something radiant and wild. She was always laughing. Everyone loved her. She was surrounded by people, and I… was always just behind her. But she chose me. She confided in me. Told me everything. We were inseparable. I loved her. Devoted myself to her. She was the most important person in my life.”

Her voice broke, just slightly.

“But one day, she fell in love with a man we knew nothing about. She let herself be seduced. Isolated. I tried to reason with her. She was a huntress: she couldn’t throw everything away for some stranger. But she pulled away. Later, I found out the man was a demon sent by Gwi-Ma.”

Neither Zoey nor Mira dared interrupt. It was the first time Celine had ever spoken of her past, and never had she seemed so human.

“When I learned the truth, I was shattered. It felt worse than betrayal. I tried again to make her see reason. But love is stronger than reason.”
Celine took a deep breath. “She loved him… with the same intensity I loved her. And she never admitted it.”

Zoey’s jaw dropped.

“She was already pregnant. Rumi... Everything happened so fast. Mi-yeong made me promise to love her child. To be there. Like an aunt. And I promised. I never tried to change her mind again. I just wanted to stay in her life.”

Celine paused, lost in memory, or in search of the right words.

“When Rumi was born, I was there. Mi-yeong refused to go to the hospital. The pregnancy had been hard. She feared Rumi might… be different. Her father was gone, but I was there. I helped bring her into the world. I held her before her own mother did. She already looked so much like her… This little bundle of life. But the demon… her father… showed up a week later. Said he’d been delayed by Gwi-Ma. That it was hard to hide something that big from him. I didn’t believe him. Not a word. The whole affair… the romance, the baby, it was all for Gwi-Ma. I was certain of it.”

“You were wrong?” Zoey asked gently.

She burned to know more. Rumi had always met questions about her parents with silence.

Mira said nothing. Her rage had turned into something colder. A cutting pity. For her, Celine had always been strong. Just. Seeing her consumed by jealousy, by hate… it was just one more heartbreak.

Celine gave a sad smile.

“Yes, I was wrong.”

Another silence. Another breath. She rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“When Mi-yeong died… It was winter. Her father had been around more. Demon attacks were increasing. Breaches in the Honmoon kept opening. In truth, they were after him. Gwi-Ma had found out about his absences. He wanted to punish him. So he took what he cherished most.”

Her voice broke. “Mi-yeong…”

Zoey stood and joined her, taking her hand. Celine wasn’t perfect, but seeing her in such pain was wrenching. Mira turned away. She couldn’t bear to watch.

“I resented him so deeply… A few days later, he came to me. He was changed. Quiet. Hollow. Detached. He put Rumi in my arms. He gave her to me… and disappeared.”

Celine swallowed.

“She looked so much like her mother. But… she was like him. A faint violet mark had appeared on her arm. Barely visible at first. But it grew. And with it, my grief. My rage. My reminder that he had killed her. For this child. For Rumi.”

No one spoke for a long time. Celine sobbed quietly. Zoey squeezed her hand. It felt wrong, unnatural, to see her mentor this way. She glanced at Mira, whose fury hadn’t cooled.

“You think she chose to have a demon for a father? You think she asked to be born like this?” Mira’s voice was sharp, unyielding. “She was just a kid. An orphan. And you couldn’t set your damn pride aside for five minutes.”

Celine covered her mouth, ashamed. Broken.

“I raised her, Mira. I gave her all the love I had. I do love her. Truly. Ironically… that’s what scared me the most. Her father was flawed. And I feared he’d resurface through her. But I loved her. Gently. Deeply. I had to take care of her… for her mother.”

Mira’s fists were white. She had never heard anything so utterly wrong. Celine should have loved her. All of her. And yet… a part of her understood. Celine, too, was a Huntress. Raised to hate demons. Probably the very first thing she ever learned.

“Well, you failed,” she spat. “Rumi doesn’t sleep. Barely eats. She doesn’t leave her room.”

Zoey gave Mira a reproachful look.

“Celine…” she said softly, “Rumi needs you. I’m sure if you just talked...”

“No. No… It’s too late…” Celine’s voice cracked.

She sighed and returned to her chair, glancing at the photo of Rumi before grabbing a tissue. She sat down heavily, crushed under the weight of it all.

“The night of the Idols Awards… Rumi came to me. She needed me more than anything. Her demon had taken over. She was terrified. She… she hated herself.”

“Your fault,” Mira snapped.

“Mira!!” Zoey cried. “May I remind you we’re not completely innocent in all this either?”

Celine raised her hand. Either to stop them or to plead for quiet.

“Yes, it’s my fault. And I’m so ashamed. But I didn’t know how else to act. I still don’t. That night… Rumi asked me to kill her.”

Silence fell like a blade.

“She… she wanted to die?” Mira whispered.

Still standing, her legs gave out. She collapsed into the very chair she had so proudly refused earlier. Zoey cast her a worried look. Mira didn’t move. She looked petrified. A deep panic pulsed in her chest. Aimed at Celine, at herself. If only they’d acted sooner…

“What did you say?” Zoey asked, her voice strangled.

Her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and throat. Rumi. She saw her sad smile from the day before. Her eyes, drifting into the distance. She’d thought it was just fatigue. The usual melancholy. But no: it had been a cry for help. And she hadn’t heard it. The idea of a world without Rumi, a body lying still, cold, lifeless, froze her blood.

“I said no. Of course I did. I told her I loved her. But… I couldn’t accept all of her. I still can’t. Not yet. I…”

Mira slowly raised her head. Her eyes brimmed with tears. But she didn’t cry. Not yet. But she was on the edge.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she whispered. “She wants to die. And you still can’t tell her she matters to you?”

Celine clutched her chest, silent. Guilty. She didn’t dare meet their eyes.

“I need time… But I know she’s not alone. She has you.”

“And if we hadn’t been so understanding?” Mira’s voice quivered. “She’d be dead by now.”

“Or with Gwi-Ma,” Zoey murmured.

“I’m sorry…”

Celine seemed sincere. She hadn’t tried to defend herself once since they entered.

Mira shot up, nerves raw.

“You don’t deserve her forgiveness.”

She stormed to the door and slammed it behind her.

Zoey hesitated. Just a second. She was angry too, but something held her back. Duty, maybe. Respect. Maybe even a kind of love. But she knew Mira needed her. She would want to talk.

Quietly, she followed. But just before crossing the threshold, she paused.

“You should’ve told all this to her. Not to us.”

And with that, she ran down the hallway to catch up with the girl she loved. Only one thought echoed in her mind and she knew Mira felt the same:

We have to find Rumi.

Chapter Text

Rumi felt Zoey’s kiss on her cheek before she even heard them leave. It was early, far too early. The sheets still held the warmth of night. Zoey had whispered something about seeing Celine. She hadn’t said more, but Rumi understood. Her chest tightened; a bitter taste bloomed beneath her tongue.

They were going to talk about her. About what she was.

Perhaps they wanted to understand. Or maybe they just needed proof. Either way, her word wasn’t enough. They had chosen to speak to Celine. Not to her.

And how could she blame them? Celine was still part of them, somehow. Mira and Zoey still loved her. Of course they needed to know. To them, all this must have felt too much, too strange, too dark. And even though she understood, truly, she did, a dull ache had gripped her stomach.

Jinu wouldn’t have needed to ask someone else. He would have known. He would have looked at her with eyes full of softness, and he would have understood. Reassured her. She missed him. Terribly. His absence was a hollow thing. And yet, in a strange way, her friend was still there. Still living somewhere between her ribs, wherever souls go once they’ve been swallowed.

She had stayed in bed for hours. Stretched out. Still. The curtains drawn let in a dim, indifferent light. Her temples throbbed with a violent migraine. Her throat was scraped raw by thirst, but she didn’t move. She only stared at the marks. At the patterns on her skin. Studying their lines, their curves, the muted shimmer of them. Since the Honmoon had been restored, the marks had faded. Just a little. Softer now, less sharp, less fierce. She preferred them that way. Invisible, almost. Easier to forget.

The day before, Zoey had followed their path with her fingers, for the first time. A simple gesture, but one that had changed everything. Until then, neither Zoey nor Mira had spoken of them. As if silence could make them disappear. The fact that they had finally been acknowledged had been a balm.

But this morning, Zoey was gone. Gone to see Celine. Gone to ask for explanations. The tenderness of the day before had vanished in the hush of morning. Did she regret touching them? Had she seen something in them she couldn’t accept?

And Mira... Mira hadn’t said a word as she left. Not even a glance. Just a cold silence that stung worse than reproach. She looked ashamed. Rumi had seen it in her posture, in the way she fled. But ashamed of what?

Bobby had called. Several times. She’d ignored him all day. He wanted to schedule interviews, but she couldn’t bear the thought. Not now. At first he was persistent, then hesitant, and finally, concerned.

And that, that was unbearable.

She didn’t want anyone to worry. Celine had taught her that. Fear, sadness, pain: you didn’t show those things. You had to be strong. Always. And now Bobby was worried. He was cracking the surface. Saw through the lie she clung to. He saw what she couldn’t admit: she wasn’t okay.

She missed Jinu, and maybe Zoey and Mira were better off without her. Celine had been right: the marks on her skin were proof that something wrong slept inside her. Twisted. Dangerous.

And what if that part took over? What if that night had only been the beginning?

If she could have disappeared, truly disappeared, she would have. But she was a coward. If she had believed, even for a second, that dying might save the world, she should have done it with her own hands.

So no. She wasn’t that bad. Not enough to be pitied. Not enough to be saved.

It was just a phase. A bad one. Nothing more. That’s what she told herself. Again and again.

Huntr/x was on pause for three weeks, and thank God for it. That day, even pretending had become too hard. She couldn’t have hidden in work like she usually did. And looking back, she hated how much she had pushed herself before. How often she’d cut Zoey and Mira’s vacations short. They had followed her, always, without protest. But it had drained them. Even if they pretended otherwise. She bit the inside of her cheek.

Celine should have done it. Should have killed her. But she hadn’t. And she hadn’t even been capable of accepting her. Not even capable of caressing her cheek.

At that thought, the marks on Rumi’s skin flared briefly with light. She punched her pillow.

A message from Zoey pulled her from her spiral:

"Hey, my love. I’m so sorry, but we’ll be home a bit late. Probably late afternoon. I’m taking Mira somewhere she can relax. Take care of yourself. I love you. Deeply."

Rumi replied instantly, as if the message had flicked some internal switch:

"Have fun. See you tonight <3"

And just like that, she got up.

She had an idea. A purpose. To prove she was fine. That she was still someone they could love. That they didn’t need to leave her like Celine had.

She remade the bed. Then she cleaned. Every item out of place, tidied. Frantically. Everything had to be perfect. Smooth. Clean. She darted to the bathroom. Let the shower scald her. Scrubbed with furious intensity, until her skin flushed red. She scrubbed the marks with mechanical rage, like she had as a child. When she thought maybe, just maybe, they’d vanish with enough soap. She knew they wouldn’t. But she tried anyway.

Today, she would be flawless. She would go shopping. Cook for Zoey and Mira.

She dressed in layers, burying her skin in loose clothes. It was too hot, but it didn’t matter. She wanted to disappear. Be invisible. A shadow, not an icon. To hide the new "tattoo" her fans loved to analyze.

She walked to the corner store, silent, head bowed. Never looking up. Her face closed.

Back home, she started to cook. It was hard. She never cooked. Usually they ordered in. Or Mira cooked quietly, enjoying the peace. This might be the first time Rumi had touched the stove since they met. Luckily, she remembered a simple recipe Celine had once made: a gentle vegetable stew, sticky rice, grilled tofu, and ginger.

She set the table. Folded the napkins. Aligned the glasses. Checked every detail. Three bowls. Nothing extravagant. But with a sprinkle of black sesame seeds made it enough. Presentable.

After that… she didn’t know. So she took another shower. Cold, this time. Then dropped to the living room floor to do exercises. Sit-ups. Push-ups. Mechanical movements. Just to wear herself out. Just to forget. Just not to think.

When Mira and Zoey came home, the sky was barely tinged with pink. Evening light slid across the buildings, soft and weary. They had spent the afternoon talking. Circling the words. Crying, sometimes. Trying to find comfort. They had built a plan. Decided what to say. What not to say. They thought they were ready.

But when they opened the door, nothing went as planned.

The apartment was spotless. The table set. The carpet vacuumed. Cushions aligned. A scent of food lingered, mixed with the faint smoke of incense. In the middle of the room, on the floor, Rumi. Flat on her back, legs tucked under the couch, doing sit-ups, earbuds in.

She hadn’t heard them. Or maybe she had, and didn’t want to look.

Mira and Zoey froze. Silent. Watching her like a scene they weren’t meant to see. Like a play they had stumbled into too late.

In a simple sports bra and shorts, Rumi's body gleamed with sweat, rising and falling with a rhythm that felt almost furious. Her eyes were blank, staring through a point that no one else could see. Her face taut, her lips pressed tight, her movements sharp. All of her spoke of a pain she wasn’t naming. Her teeth clenched with every rise. In another life, this might have been beautiful. Desirable, even. But tonight, it tore something open.

They knew this version of Rumi. The one who vanished into effort. Who muted her sorrow with discipline. Who clung to goals so she wouldn't collapse. They knew she was drowning.

Since their talk with Celine, everything had shifted. A new lens. Harsh. Irrevocable.

Mira stepped forward first. Zoey had asked her to. She was afraid of saying the wrong thing, of moving too fast, of hurting without meaning to. So Mira turned on the light, heart racing. Rumi blinked, startled, as if yanked from a trance. She stopped. Pulled out her earbuds. Looked at them. Then smiled. Too wide. Too quick. A mask.

"You're back!" she said, overly warm.

She stood, wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, and moved to hug Mira. Maybe too tightly. Maybe too fast. Mira took a second to respond. She seemed unsure, delayed. But she kissed her cheek.

"And we’re not going anywhere," she whispered.

Rumi stilled for a heartbeat. She hated that feeling. She looked away. Chest still heaving.

"Did you have a good day?" Zoey asked, voice soft, cautious.

She approached like one does a wounded animal. Slowly. Rumi embraced her with that same rushed intensity, as if giving enough could shield her from having to receive. But Zoey held her. Long enough that letting go was hard. Her skin was warm, sticky with sweat.

"I went shopping. I cooked. I cleaned. Full day!"

Zoey shut her eyes, hard. She wouldn’t cry. Not now.

"And you? How's Celine? Was your afternoon okay?"

Too casual. The words sharp in their lightness. Mira and Zoey exchanged glances. What could they say? Truth clung to their throats. To lie felt like betrayal. But now? Was now the time?

Rumi sensed it. That silence. The kind that teeters. That tiptoes. She couldn’t bear it. So she took their hands and gently led them to the kitchen.

"Come, let me show you what I made. I know you like it, Zoey! We’ve had it before. I picked an easy recipe. It probably isn’t great. But I did my best."

She opened the pot, revealing the steaming stew.

"I made too much," she said with a nervous laugh. "Leftovers for tomorrow. Not so bad, right?"

Zoey smiled, faintly.

"Thank you, Rumi."

She took her hand. Warm fingers curled into hers. A small gesture, but heavy. A quiet vow. We are here. We’re not leaving.

Mira cleared her throat. Shifted from foot to foot.

"Can we sit for a bit? On the couch. Just talk. We can eat after."

Rumi stiffened. She felt the words she didn’t want to hear coming.

"You want to talk about your day?"

"About you, mostly," Mira said. "How you're doing."

Rumi inhaled, rigid.

"I'm fine. There's nothing to say. Tell me what you did this afternoon."

"We spent the afternoon talking about you," said Mira. "We’re worried."

Rumi laughed. High-pitched. Too short.

"No need to worry. I’m productive. That’s all that matters. I haven’t felt this good in a while."

Zoey’s voice faltered:

"We saw Celine. This morning. She told us..."

Rumi went still. So they had talked about her. The words hit her, sharp and cold. Her gaze hardened.

"We didn’t realize how bad it was. How much you were hurting. Celine was wrong, but–"

"What happened between Celine and me is none of your business."

Too harsh. She knew it. Regretted it instantly. Her marks flared with violet light. But Mira and Zoey didn’t flinch this time. They stayed. Watched her like something precious on the verge of breaking.

"We just want to understand. We want to help," Mira said, voice low, sincere. "You deserve to be okay. You deserve to be happy. And we’re here. We really are."

Rumi didn’t answer. Not right away. She stared at the floor. Her shoulders tensed, holding something back. Not a fall, but a slow collapse. A dam cracking. She nodded. Once. It was all she could manage.

Zoey took her hand. Mira followed. They sat together on the couch. Silence fell again. But it didn’t hurt this time. It waited. It opened.

They had begun, at last, to unravel the knots.

Mira was the first to break the silence, just as she and Zoey had planned. Her voice was soft, already on the verge of breaking:

"So… we talked to Celine."

Her fingers brushed Rumi’s arm in a gesture meant to be tender, but Rumi flinched. Barely, but enough. Mira withdrew at once. She breathed in, slow and steady.

"She told us what she did. She never should’ve treated you like that. You deserved better. You deserve better."

The words tangled, caught in the thorns of emotion. Mira’s gaze dropped to her hands, twisting in her lap.

"And we should’ve done better too. I know Zoey apologized, but I want you to know I’m sorry too… I love you, Rumi. I love who you are. And I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. What you’ve had to hide."

A silence bloomed, dense with tears not yet shed.

"I know," Rumi whispered, barely audible. "Don’t blame yourself. Both of you. You were scared. It was… too much, all at once. I wanted to tell you. I wanted you to know. But not like that."

Mira nodded, eyes wet.

"We should’ve seen you. You were still Rumi. Our Rumi. We never should’ve pushed you away. Especially when you were already fighting yourself. When you were scared too."

"I don’t blame you," Rumi said, quieter still. "In your place… I think I’d have reacted the same. I was overwhelmed. Out of control. You were right to keep your distance. If anything had happened to you…"

A shiver ran through her spine.

"You wouldn’t have hurt us," Zoey said, her voice trembling. "If we’d reacted differently… If I’d just held you–"

"Zoey–"

"If we hadn’t looked at you like a monster, maybe you wouldn’t have gone to Celine. Maybe you wouldn’t have wanted to die."

The silence hit like a blade. Zoey’s words hung in the air, too raw, too real. Mira turned away, stricken. They had promised to speak about this differently.

Rumi tensed like a bowstring.

"I asked her to do her job. I know how that sounds. I know it was… awful. But I was afraid. Afraid of losing control."

Zoey lowered her gaze. Mira leaned closer, cupped Rumi’s chin, and gently turned her face to meet her eyes. Her thumb traced a soft circle on Rumi’s cheek.

"Was that really the only reason, Rumi?"

A nearly imperceptible nod. Her eyes darted away.

"Then what is it? What are you feeling right now? What’s making you sad?"

"Nothing else…"

"You don’t have to talk. Not yet. But we see you. You’re hurting. And that’s okay. You have the right to hurt. But this time, we won’t walk away. Not again."

Rumi lifted her gaze. Her eyes shimmered with silence. Then she leaned forward and kissed Mira’s hand, at the soft space between thumb and finger. A wordless kiss, tender as a vow. Suddenly she looked smaller. Fragile. Like she might shatter.

She reached for Zoey’s hand and held it so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"If things get bad again," Zoey said. "If you feel yourself slipping… if nothing makes sense anymore… You have to tell us. We won’t let you face that alone, we’re not letting you down again."

"You never did let me fall," Rumi murmured. "You kept me afloat. If I’m still here, it’s because of you."

Zoey interrupted gently:

"And if one day you want to stop it all, Huntr/x, the fighting… even us… you have to tell us that too. We’ll help you. But promise me… promise you won’t do anything reckless."

Rumi squeezed her hand harder. Her breath came quick, shallow. Her chest felt tight with air that wouldn’t fill her.

She thought about death. Not dying, exactly. Just… not existing. Some nights, before sleep, she imagined the aftermath. An accident. A sudden disappearance. Zoey broken. Mira never quite recovering. In a way, it comforted her. That she would still matter, even gone. And then came Celine. Shifting, uncertain. One night grieving, one night crying over her mother’s grave, one night cold. But always, always moving on.

"I won’t do anything," Rumi said. "I promise. I don’t want to die. I’m not suicidal. I’m far too much of a coward. I think about death, yes… my death. But never the act. I couldn’t."

Mira and Zoey froze, eyes wide. Panic and silence flared together. Rumi rushed to add:

"I’m just… too weak to accept myself. I hate the demon part. I can’t face it, not while I’m alive. But I’m also too scared to die."

Her voice wavered, cracked open by its own rawness.

"Without Jinu… I don’t know how to understand myself. He didn’t show me everything. I hate that. The emptiness. The fear. We kill demons every night. I know what they’re capable of. And I’m terrified that one day… the thing inside me will win. That Gwi-Ma will take root. Whisper. Command. Make me do something horrible…"

Mira wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Every word Rumi spoke was a blade twisting in her chest.

"I’m scared I’ll lose control and hurt you," Rumi choked out.

She let go of Zoey’s hand and collapsed into Mira’s embrace, fingers clutching her shirt like a lifeline.

"After the Idols Awards… I know what I can do. What I’m made of. Every feeling is a weapon. That’s why I isolate myself. Because I’m a danger. But being alone is worse."

She buried her face in Mira’s collar. Zoey, sitting beside them, turned a ring around her finger with nervous, shaking hands.

"Since I was a child, I always knew I’d be a hunter. I thought the Honmoon would turn gold one day. That I’d get rid of the demon part. I was eager. With my secret, I could never get close to anyone. But it was bearable. Then I met you, and everything changed. The secret became unbearable. The heaviest weight I’ve ever carried. I wanted to be close. To give you everything. But there was always a wall. Honestly… I’ve never felt more alone than since I met you."

Mira held her tighter. Rumi’s voice had splintered. Zoey was crying, soundlessly.

"You are everything to me. I’ve never wanted to turn the Honmoon gold more than I do now. Because I want you to know me. Truly. But even that was taken from me. I thought after Gwi-Ma, we’d be together. Really together. But… I’m scared. Scared to hurt you. Jinu helped me face myself… but he didn’t take the fear."

She trembled all over.

"It would have been so much easier if Celine had done what she was supposed to."

And then, she broke.

The sobs came, unstoppable. She wept everything she had held in. Every silence. Every weight.

"I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…"

Mira held her, even tighter. As if she could stitch her back together by sheer closeness. As if she could keep her from vanishing.

Zoey took a trembling breath.

"I’m so grateful to have you, Rumi. You and Mira… you helped me exist. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

She leaned in, tucked a strand of violet hair behind Rumi’s ear.

"We can help. You don’t have to carry this alone. Hiding, isolating, it only makes it worse. But we’re here. To learn with you. To be less afraid. We love you, Rumi. And we’re not going anywhere. You deserve the world. And I plan on giving it to you."

"And if Gwi-Ma comes after you, we’ll kick his ass, even if we have to go into his dumb dimension," Mira added, drying Zoey’s cheeks. "Seriously, Rumi… you’ve always been there for us. You saved me from my family. Gave me freedom. It’s our turn now. We’ll deal with your demon side. We know how. We’re huntress. And if it gets annoying, we’ll smack it down."

Zoey laughed through her tears. Rumi, mid-sob, smiled. Just barely. But in that tiny gesture, maybe, just maybe, was the hope of a tomorrow.

Night had fallen without them noticing. A peaceful, almost tender darkness wrapped the apartment, as if the world, too, had gone quiet to listen.

Outside, the skyscrapers stood like silent sentinels. A few windows still glowed, but everything felt far away. Unreal.

Rumi had fallen asleep, her head resting on Mira’s lap, violet hair tousled, soaked with tears. She breathed unevenly, as if even sleep couldn’t smooth the tension from her body. Zoey, beside them, didn’t move. She kept watch. Like you keep vigil over the deceased.

At last, silence was no longer heavy. It was necessary. A pause between storms.

Mira absentmindedly stroked Rumi’s hair, her eyes lost in the dark.

"Do you think we can save her?" she whispered, barely a breath.

Zoey didn’t answer right away. Then, softly:

"She doesn’t need saving. She just needs to be loved."

Mira closed her eyes. She remembered the first time she saw Rumi, that mysterious, distant gaze, as if she carried the weight of a world no one else could see. She had wondered what loneliness hid there. Now, she knew. And even though it scared her, even though it was immense, she wouldn’t back away.

Rumi stirred slightly in her sleep, her fingers searching for a hand. Zoey gave hers without hesitation. She kissed each of her fingers. A silent promise.

"We’ll get through this," she whispered. "The three of us, together."

And in that darkened room, in that little corner of the world suspended between two heartbeats, the story didn’t end. It continued.

One breath at a time. One night at a time. Hand in hand.