Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

From a very early age, Mira knew how to take care of things. She spent much of her time with her family's household staff, observing them as they expertly cooked, cleaned, and laundered. When she was small, she worked very hard to care for the people and things around her—as much as any child could. She wanted to be like the men and women in her home, who created a space that felt safe with grace and poise. She tried to emulate the ones who truly cared for her, who treated her as more than just the little heiress. She wanted to be good and by extension she wanted to be loved.

But as she grew, her caring, open heart began to wither. No matter the time she spent or the effort she put in, it was never acknowledged by her parents. They only noticed one thing: failure. And as time went on she came to understand that failure was the only thing she had to give them.

A storm brewed inside her. Fueled by the white hot rage she felt when her mother prodded her appearance, by the searing anger when her father critiqued the way she spoke, and by the bitter resentment when they both turned on her, acting as though they couldn't understand her behaviour, asking her why it was so hard for her to behave.

As Mira's walls grew taller, she reminded herself often that she knew she could take care of herself. Even when she couldn't gain control of her emotions, she could control her body. Dance felt like the ideal outlet for her. It started with ballet, which was an easy sell for her parents, although they found it frivolous. They enjoyed sending her away for summers in Paris, chained to an au paire and an unfamiliar household staff who spoke little to no Korean. One less thing for them to worry about.

When the dancing became decidedly less ballet and moreso modern, hip-hop, breaking, and K-pop, suddenly her parents cared very deeply. They couldn't have her embarrassing them. Acting out, they had called it. So she hid it as best she could, throwing herself into her ballet practice until her feet and ankles were raw and aching.

While she made few friends in Paris with her broken French and her reflexive scowl, a couple of the teachers at her school grew fond of her and showed her kindness. One, Genevieve, with soft blond hair that curled and fell around her shoulders and bounced when she laughed, would invite Mira to her home for meals, serving her roast chicken and potatoes with salads fresh from her garden. She offered her the occasional small glass of red wine and corrected her French, always with kindness in her eyes.

Genevieve observed that Mira delighted in the creatures in her home: the two black cats, the large white dog, and the three chickens which pecked their way through the back garden. She showed Mira how to care for them, to prepare their food and water, to collect the eggs and muck out the small coop. She let Mira linger late into the evenings, petting the dog, Claude, as she sat on the stoop.

One day, as they were preparing dinner, Genevieve approached Mira with a question. Did she really want to dance?

"I think you have what it takes, to make it professionally," Genevieve said as she stood in the kitchen, chopping cucumbers.

"Thank you, Madame," Mira said quietly, not moving from the sink where she was washing the greens they had harvested that evening.

"What I want to know is—do you want this life for yourself?"

"My parents—"

Genevieve tutted, silencing her. "I am not asking about your parents. I am asking about you."

Mira paused, staring at the bright green maché and butter lettuce, dripping with water in her hands. "I do," she said, resolutely.

"Good. Because there is someone I would like for you to meet."

Some three weeks later Mira sat in the office of the dance school, hands nervously smoothing the fabric of her dress. A knock on the door startled her, but Genevieve soothed her, smiling as she stood.

"That will be my dear friend Celine."

As the door opened, a woman with long black hair entered, embracing Genevieve with two—no, three—kisses before stepping back to observe her. "It's been a long time, Genevieve," she said, in measured French, her accent clearer than Mira's but still evident.

Mira stumbled to her feet, bowing to Celine. Genevieve hadn't told her she was Korean. Her face flushed with embarrassment.

"You must be Mira," Celine said. "Let's speak in French for now, while our friend Genevieve is here with us. Perhaps later we can talk more in Korean."

Mira nodded, her back still slightly stooped.

The meeting had gone well, although Mira had struggled to follow as Celine and Genevieve spoke quickly and familiarly in French. She understood that Celine was in the process of forming a girl group in Korea and that she was looking for a dancer. Mira's heart skipped a beat at the thought.

After some time had passed, Genevieve suggested they adjourn to her home for dinner. They shared a meal of stuffed squash, full of succulent pork, zucchini, tomato, and onions from the garden. Celine was warm but even mannered, never raising her voice or laughing as loudly or as joyfully as Genevieve. Mira watched her carefully, observing. When the meal was done, Genevieve shooed them away from the kitchen.

"Go and have a chat and I will join you after I've done a bit of washing up," she said. When Mira hesitated, her dirty plate in hand, Genevieve added, laughing, "go, Mira!"

In the small sitting room, Celine had already placed herself in a large wingback chair. Mira perched awkwardly on a chaise longue. One of the cats curled around her legs.

"So, Mira," Celine began in Korean, her voice smooth and resonant. "I understand you normally reside in Seoul."

"Yes. My family's home is there." Celine seemed to be appraising her every word and reaction. Mira grew tense.

"Genevieve has told me you dance very well. Not just ballet, as I understand it."

"Yes. I have been given the opportunity to study some other styles."

"You seem very strong and very disciplined for someone your age." Celine's inflection drifted upward at the end of the sentence, as if inviting Mira to confirm or refute it.

"I can't say for myself, but I know that I work hard when it matters. I'm fifteen years old now." Mira hesitated before adding, "I'm good at taking care of myself."

Something in Celine's expression faltered, only for a moment. "That's good to hear. You seem like a good student. And Genevieve tells me you have been helping her keep the house up."

"Oh. Well, yes. I like to… I enjoy the garden and the animals."

"That's nice. I have a garden and some farm animals myself at my home in Jeju. I was wondering if you would be interested in visiting some time and learning more about my work."

"For… For the girl group?" Mira felt a little thrill, gripping the edge of the chaise longue.

Celine paused before saying, "yes. There's more to forming a group like this than meets the eye."

"Can I ask, how many others are there?"

Celine sighed. It was soft and only just perceptible to Mira. "Just one so far."

When Celine asked the next day to speak to Mira's parents on her behalf, she was nervous. Summers dancing in Paris were one thing—potential recruitment to a K-pop group was another. She wasn't sure how much more strain the relationship could take.

Something felt deeply wrong when the approval arrived just days later.

"This is good news, hm, Mira?" Genevieve had asked. They were in the garden again, picking slugs from the greens and dropping them into a bucket to feed to the chickens.

"Ah, yes, good news. Thank you, Madame." A small pebble of worry in Mira's gut was growing into a larger stone, collecting weight, and sinking deeper.

When Mira arrived home that evening, she found the household staff were busy. On the ground floor near the staircase her suitcases stood, packed and ready. She asked the house manager, Anton, if she was to depart soon.

"Yes, Mademoiselle. The car service will arrive soon."

Mira's face paled. "How soon?"

"Within the hour." Mira's expression must have been dire, as Anton softened. "Are you not excited to be going home to Korea, Mademoiselle?"

"I was just—" she thought of Genevieve and the garden. How they still needed to harvest the carrots. "It's soon."

Anton nodded as though he understood, parting her lightly on the shoulder. "Yes, Mademoiselle will be missed at the house. We look forward to hosting you again."

Mira just nodded, shaken. She went to her room and took out her phone, texting Genevieve.

'I am leaving tonight, Madame'

'ah say it isn't so! Celine told me it could be soon but I didn't think it quite so soon'

Mira paused, looking towards the door of the room.

'I'm nervous', she wrote.

'ma choue, do not be. this is the beginning of a great adventure. and we will always be your friends here in Paris'

Mira stared at the message for a long time before she locked her phone. She would never return to Genevieve's Parisian garden again in the flesh, although in her mind's eye she would visit often.

By the time Mira arrived in Jeju, she was a bundle of nerves. She tried to soothe herself and listen to music, to run routines in her mind. But she kept coming back to thoughts of her family.

It was a welcome distraction to step off the plane and find Celine waiting for her in front of a white Musso truck, mud on the tires. She smiled—not in a big, broad way, but in the gentle sloping curve of her mouth, an expression that Mira would become intimately familiar with the degrees of.

Mira greeted her, somewhat shy, and climbed into the front seat of the truck. It was a long, silent ride out to Celine's home. When they pulled up to the gate and Celine climbed out to unlock it, the sun was setting already, and the fading golden light was spilling across the fields in slow motion like honey.

Off in the distance, near the main house, Mira could see the silhouette of a young woman. She came into focus as they approached. She wore an uncanny smile plastered on her lips, her clothes loose and casual, her hair pulled back in an intricate braid.

When Celine stepped out of the truck she called out to her. "Rumi, can you help our visitor with her bags?"

Rumi nodded, obediently retrieving Mira's luggage and wordlessly rolling it towards the house. Mira followed Celine, uncertain.

The house smelled older, but not unclean, the door whining as it opened. It was a traditional Korean hanok, several rooms wide, airy and full of wood accents. Though the day had been a hot one, the air inside the house was cool.

Celine guided Mira to a room at the end of a long hallway, where Rumi stood beside her bags. Neither spoke, but waited with hands folded for Celine's instruction.

"This is where you'll be staying for the time being, Mira. There's more to discuss in the morning, but for now I'll let you get some sleep. Rumi, can you show Mira where she can wash up and make sure she has some tea?" Rumi nodded. They both watched Celine walk away before turning to each other.

Rumi smiled again, a strange sort of expression that looked oddly practiced. Mira extended her hand, somewhat awkwardly. "I'm Kang Mira."

"I'm Ryu Rumi."

"Nice to meet you," Mira said, leaning forward to kiss her cheeks on reflex, as she had done for many years in her dance school in Paris, greeting the new girls each summer. Rumi stiffened, wide eyed when Mira pulled away. "Sorry," Mira mumbled. "I was—sorry."

"It's okay. Um, Celine said you have been studying in France for some time." Rumi couldn't meet her eye for a moment, staring at the floor.

"Yes. At the Opéra National de Paris."

"You must be really good, then," Rumi said with a more genuine smile. Sillier. Cuter.

"Um, I'm okay." Mira rubbed the back of her neck, masking a flutter of pride.

"Celine has been really excited for you to come." Rumi rocked back and forth lightly on her feet, seemingly holding something back.

"Have you, uh, auditioned a lot of other girls for the group?" Mira asked.

"You're the first one to come to the house." Rumi paused for a moment, looking back towards the other end of the house where Celine had disappeared to. "Are you tired?"

"Not really," Mira admitted.

"Do you want to see my room?"

"Yeah, okay." Mira found a fondness for Rumi blooming in her chest as she grabbed Mira's hand, pulling her towards another door.

At home, Mira's room had always been a bit stark. Her parents instructed the staff to keep the house in a certain state. Things like posters and glow-in-the-dark stickers were strongly discouraged or quickly removed. She had her bits and pieces of personality injected here and there. She had carved her name in large, looping hangul with a pocket knife into the top of her dresser and set a small fire in the back corner, hidden behind her vanity.

Rumi's space, on the other hand, felt very lived in. Posters of girl groups, drawings of big pink camelia blossoms, and teddy bears. So. Many. Teddy bears. Mira picked one of the teddies up from where it sat on Rumi's desk, running her fingers through its soft white fur.

Sitting down on the side of her bed, Rumi looked up at Mira expectantly, patting the space beside her. Mira approached somewhat stiffly, sitting beside her.

"What's Paris like?" Rumi asked, almost immediately.

"It's nice. I like the weather there, in the summer. It's not as humid."

"Is the food good?"

"Yeah. Like the pastries are really good. Lots of butter."

Rumi looked wistful as she listened, pulling her knees up to her chest. "I haven't really traveled much. Celine does a lot but… I mostly stay home."

Mira let her gaze drift over to Rumi, watching her. She stared out into the distance, lost in thought.

"I like your room," Mira said, hoping to redirect her. "You like TWICE?" She glanced up at a poster.

"Yeah," Rumi said, grinning. "What about you?"

"They're good. I like Jihyo. Her voice is amazing." There were other aspects of Jihyo that Mira found amazing, but Rumi didn't need to hear that yet. Maybe not ever.

Mira looked around the room, her eyes scanning the pictures and posters on Rumi's walls. Her eyes fell on an image of the Sunlight Sisters, a Korean girl group from the 1990s. She'd heard of them before, knew a few of their bigger hits. But as she stared at the photo realization dawned on her.

"That's Celine," Mira said, slack jawed.

Rumi looked up at the image, wincing very slightly—something you'd easily miss. "Yeah, she was a Sunlight Sister. That's how she got into the business. Now she manages. Recruits. Stuff like that."

Mira's eyes narrowed as she thought, slowly, the gears turning in her mind. "Rumi… How do you know Celine?"

"Oh. Celine is my… My guardian. She's raised me since my mom passed away."

"I'm sorry. About your mom." Mira hesitated before reaching out and squeezing Rumi's hand with the same easy intimacy that Rumi had shown her earlier. Rumi looked at her with a shy smile, her eyes just the slightest bit glassy.

"Thank you. It was a long time ago." She looked back at the poster. "That's her, actually. Mi-yeong." She pointed at a woman with long black hair, braided in a way not unlike Rumi's.

"Wow." Mira took a moment to process. "So you're like… Popstar royalty."

Rumi blanched. "Don't say it like that."

"Sorry," Mira mumbled. "I just mean… Your mom. She was really talented."

"It's a lot to live up to," Rumi said softly. They were quiet for a few beats, Mira fidgeting with a loose thread on the side of her jeans.

"I like your teddy bears," Mira said, trying to sound earnest but worried it came out as teasing. Rumi looked at her, a hint of colour on her cheeks, but she was smiling.

"Thanks. I was kind of obsessed when I was little."

"Not obsessed anymore?" Mira asked, looking around the room, mentally counting bears. Rumi gave her a playful push in the shoulder.

"Oh, that reminds me," Rumi said, getting to her feet. She walked over to her desk and pulled open a drawer, rummaging around inside. She pulled out a tiny pink teddy bear, no larger than her palm. "When Celine told me you were coming, I wanted to make something for you. To put in your room."

Rumi walked over and placed the tiny teddy bear in Mira's hand. "It's needle felted," Rumi announced, a hint of pride in her voice, as though Mira should know what that meant.

"I love it," Mira said, feeling overwhelmed. She ran a thumb over the bear's tiny face, feeling the small black beads of its eyes.

"I feel like… It's nice to have something in a new place that's yours. It can make it feel more like home."

"Thank you, Rumi. I'm… I'm glad to be here."

"Me too," Rumi said softly, looking away. She pulled Mira into a quick hug. "I'm glad you're here."

When Mira was settled in her new bed that first night, she found the tiny pink teddy bear in her hand again. Her fingers stroked the soft fur, her eyes closing.

Chapter Text

More than a week after Mira arrived at Celine's home, a white box truck appeared at the gate of the farm. It was a quiet morning, and she was sitting with Rumi and Celine around the table in the kitchen, eating breakfast. When the truck pulled up, Celine excused herself, walking down the driveway to meet them.

Mira and Rumi exchanged a glance before abandoning their half-eaten meal to stare out the window. Celine had a few words with the men in the truck, cigarette smoke spiraling out of the cab. She unlocked the gate and they drove closer, parking just outside the house. They set about unloading a large pallet covered in shrink-wrapped cardboard boxes.

Something inside Mira shifted as she watched the men unload their cargo. She had asked Celine many times, politely, what the plans were for her return to Seoul. School would begin again in a matter of weeks. Celine asked for Mira's patience.

Mira stepped back from the window. Her eyes stung, her throat felt tight. She turned and quickly walked away, to the back of the house, to her small room, to her bed. She curled up under the duvet, pressing her hands to her face, trying to calm herself.

Not long after, she heard a soft tapping on her door. She ignored it, but Rumi came in anyway. Mira heard her footsteps as she approached the bed.

"Mira, what's wrong?"

"It's nothing," Mira said quickly, her voice thick with tears, her stuffy nose making her pitch sound deeper than usual.

Rumi was silent for a moment. "Doesn't seem like nothing," she said, scuffing her slipper on the floor. Mira sighed and sat up in bed, pushing herself back against the headboard. Rumi sat down on the edge of the mattress, looking back.

"I don't think I'm going home," Mira whispered.

Rumi looked nervous, her expression crumpling a bit. "Celine… Asked me not to tell you."

Mira's heart stuttered. "What? What do you mean?"

Rumi wrung her hands, staring at her lap. She looked up at Mira again, slowly, wincing.

"What did she say, Rumi?" Mira felt her throat closing, panic rising in her chest.

"She said that… That you would be staying here. But not to ask about other stuff. Like, your family. Because she was waiting to tell you. Until it was finished." Rumi reached over and covered Mira's hand with her own. Mira almost pulled away, but stilled herself.

"Until what was finished?"

Before Rumi could respond, Celine's voice floated down the hallway. "Mira? Rumi?" She appeared in Mira's bedroom doorway, smelling faintly of cigarettes.

"Rumi," Celine began, her tone just short of a reprimand. "Would you mind clearing away the rest of your and Mira's breakfast?" Rumi nodded but looked away, unable to meet Celine's gaze, shuffling off to the kitchen.

Celine took the chair from the small desk in Mira's room and brought it over to her bedside before sitting down. She looked at Mira expectantly, as though waiting for her to speak first. Mira, petulant, refused. They sat in silence for several minutes.

Finally, frustrated, Mira blurted out, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what, Mira?" Celine asked, her tone absurdly even.

"That they—that they abandoned me." She hated how raw her voice sounded.

"Your parents didn't abandon you, Mira. They simply agreed to let you stay with me."

Mira shook her head. "Are those not my things? In the truck?"

"They are."

"So they moved me out. Out of my home."

"They wanted to make sure you'd have everything you needed here, to feel comfortable. I explained to them the value of this opportunity."

"But they don't… They've never supported anything like this. Dancing. Girl groups, that sort of thing."

Celine tipped her head to one side slightly. "I didn't explain it to them as such. I described it as a prestigious academic and cultural experience."

Mira's brow furrowed, her anguish over her family temporarily forgotten. "But that's not… That's not what it is?"

"I need to show you something, Mira. I was waiting until I had your parents' full agreement that you could stay here, but this work that we're doing—it's about far more than just performing. It's a significant commitment."

Mira couldn't have imagined in that moment what Celine had meant. How much deeper purpose could a girl group possibly have?

Celine asked her to dress and meet her outside. When she did, Rumi was there waiting. She looked solemn.

They walked down the hill from the main house, past the fields of the short, shrubby tangerine trees with their dark green leaves and sweetly scented white flowers. Eventually, they came to a graveyard. It was well tended, though some of the stones appeared quite old and weathered with time. One of the graves had fresh offerings—a few pieces of fruit and cut flowers. Mira wondered whose it was.

Past the graveyard was a large dangsan tree, its trunk wide and gnarled. The brightly coloured osaekcheon that hung from its limbs fluttered in the breeze. It was intimidating and enormous, so obviously ancient that it made Mira feel profoundly small.

When they reached the foot of the tree, Celine turned around and asked them to sit. Mira sat down on the ground, crossing her legs. Rumi sat just close enough to her that she was within arm's reach. She was watching Mira, trying to be subtle about it but failing.

Celine stood in front of the dangsan tree, looking severe.

"Mira," she began, not looking at her, placing her hand on the bark of the tree, fingers tracing the geumjul that looped around the trunk. "What do you know about the history of Jeju Island?"

Mira looked at Rumi helplessly. Was she supposed to know something special about Jeju?

"Not much," she admitted, after an uncomfortable silence.

"This place where we are standing is sacred ground. It's the origin point of an incredibly powerful energy source called the Honmoon."

Mira swallowed nervously, suddenly having misgivings about everything she'd learned about Celine so far. Why were they so isolated out here on Jeju Island? What did a remote farm have to do with training a girl group? Was this some kind of cult? Had her parents sold her into some sort of bizarre servitude? How could she have been so foolish to trust—

Rumi must have sensed Mira spiralling, because she reached out and grabbed her arm, startling her out of her panicked train of thought. She slid her hand down Mira's forearm before lacing their fingers together, pressing down into her palm. She nodded towards Celine, as if to say, Listen.

She did her best to return her attention to Celine's words. But they were… A lot. As she spoke about the Honmoon and its power, how it came to be, Mira found herself growing more and more uneasy. If Celine sensed it, she didn't let on. She barely looked in Mira's direction.

After what felt like forever, Celine turned around and faced them. "I recognize that this may be a lot to take in. But I need you to understand that not only is the Honmoon critical to our protection—to the safety of the entire world—it's also all around us. It lives and, more importantly, it can die, just as we do. The work that hunters have done for thousands of years falls to you now."

Mira had so many questions. Some she was afraid to ask, and some she was afraid to know the answer to. Her deepest and most perplexing was fairly simple, however. Why her? Of all the people in the world?

"I'm sure you have questions, Mira. I'm going to ask you to just sit with what I've said tonight. You're under no obligation to continue with this process. But please know that you are needed here. You can make a profound difference here."

Mira nodded, as though she understood. Her mind reeled. She looked at Rumi, whose expression was… Somber. Her eyes never left Celine.

They ate lunch in silence that afternoon. Although the stew smelled rich and the rice was warm and comforting, Mira couldn't stomach much. When they were finished, Celine directed her to rest. To wait to unpack her belongings. Mira supposed she was allowing her to think about what she'd said. Make some kind of decision. As if she really had one. It seemed clear that there was no home for her to return to.

She fell into a restless sleep. When she woke up, the sky was fading into the colours of the evening, and the chorus of insects outside was growing loud. As she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and watching the light change, the door to her room opened slowly. She turned and saw Rumi, hovering, her head poked through the opening.

"Hi," Rumi said, smiling. "Celine said I could come check on you."

"Hey." Some part of Mira felt the need to perk up and pretend she was more alright with everything than she actually was, for Rumi's sake. "I'm fine."

Rumi nodded but didn't look especially convinced. She came and sat next to Mira on the bed. They watched the sun go down out the window.

"Celine said you could eat dinner in your room if you want." Rumi paused before adding, "Just for tonight."

"Oh. Okay."

"I could make us ramyeon?" Rumi offered.

Mira sighed, but said, "That sounds nice."

Rumi scooted closer to her and put an arm around her shoulder. It was a little stiff, but the intent was nice. Mira just sat there for a moment before pulling her into a proper hug.

"Do you want to have a sleepover tonight?" Rumi asked before pulling away.

Mira sniffed. "Yeah, okay."

As promised, Rumi made them ramyeon, and they sat in Mira's bed eating it, talking about music and movies and just sort of pretending that demons and ancient ancestral responsibilities didn't exist. Rumi asked to see some ballet moves, and Mira showed her how to plié and relevé, and laughed and flat-out refused when she requested a lift.

"No," Mira said, flatly. "I'll drop you, and Celine will kill me." Rumi sighed dramatically.

After clearing away their dinner, Rumi proposed a movie. They settled on Inside Out, streamed on Mira's phone.

Rumi fell asleep first. Mira didn't notice straight away. She was still watching the movie intently, chin on her hands. She turned to Rumi to say something and realized she was still, her eyes closed, her breathing soft and even.

Mira smiled. Sleep made Rumi look even younger. Mira could see in her face the shadow of a little girl, the one who seemed so serious in the portrait near the entryway. She was at peace.

Reaching up and taking the phone in her hand, Mira paused the movie and locked the screen. She shifted, placing it on her nightstand. She pulled the duvet up over Rumi and herself, turning onto her side. She knew it was a little strange to watch her sleep. But she was entranced. Something about seeing her there—safe and happy—soothed Mira more than she had been in many years. She let her eyes slide shut, the quiet of the summer night filling her ears, wrapping around her like a blanket.

The next morning, Mira woke with a start.

"You snore," Rumi announced, inches from her face.

"Rumi," Mira grunted, pushing her away half-heartedly. "I do not."

"How would you know if you didn't?"

Mira thought about that. "Not sure, actually."

"Well, you do. Just so you know." Rumi sat back and grinned.

Mira scoffed, reaching behind her and grabbing a spare pillow, whipping it at Rumi's head before she could react. Rumi, aghast, grabbed her own pillow and returned fire.

Things escalated quickly, and soon Rumi and Mira were locked in combat, scrambling over the bed, alternately laughing and screaming. A particularly aggressive swing from Rumi sent her pillow flying, toppling the lamp on Mira's bedside table and sending it crashing to the floor, the bulb shattering.

They had enough time to look at each other, panicked, before Celine appeared at the door.

"Girls." Celine looked tired, although not very upset. "Please clean this up before breakfast. And be careful, okay? Use the hand broom."

"Yes, Celine," they said in unison, looking sheepish.

After Celine left them alone, they exchanged a glance before laughing. Mira felt younger than her fifteen years—younger than she had in a long time.

Rumi retrieved the broom from elsewhere in the house while Mira tidied the bed. When they came into the kitchen for breakfast, Celine informed them they'd be spending the day training.

That day was the first of many training sessions. A lifetime's worth, Mira would later realize.

She and Rumi learned to eat well at breakfast. Mira often had two or three eggs, soft-boiled so the golden yolks still ran, mixed with warm rice, wilted greens, and served with hot tea.

As the days grew cooler, jjigae became more common, bubbling on the stove, served with heaps of soft tofu and plentiful mushrooms. Rumi, as Mira came to know, refused to eat meat after witnessing Celine slaughter one of the chickens as a child. She was so tender-hearted about animals that she didn't even like to see the barn cats chasing rats and mice.

The longer Mira stayed at the hunters' compound, the more chores Celine entrusted to her. First came the chickens—a small flock of just a half dozen hens, a mix of brown and white jaeraedak. Originally, Celine kept them for eggs and for food, but Rumi saw to the end of that through many tears shed. Now they all had names and laid well in a small nesting coop not far from the main house.

Each morning, Mira would wake up, brush her teeth, pull back her hair, put on her boots, and go down to check the roost. She'd gather the eggs, give the chickens some feed and fresh water, and return in time for breakfast.

It was usually Celine at the stove when Mira arrived, but sometimes Rumi would be there, smiling, asking how Marigold was doing. She claimed she didn't play favourites, but she never asked about the other chickens by name. Mira would hand her the clutch of eggs, often still warm, and she'd boil them straight away or crack them into a pan.

Rumi would occasionally be there in the early mornings as well, lingering in her doorway, waiting for Mira to wake up. On those days, she was a little slower and quieter. Mira suspected she had trouble sleeping.

Sometimes her eyes were red and her cheeks were ruddy as though she'd been crying. Mira didn't feel right saying anything or asking her about it directly. Instead, she tried to think of little things to point out to her on the walk that would make her smile.

One morning, as they were coming quietly over the hill, they spotted a small herd of deer, their red fur painted gold by the sunrise. Mira stopped Rumi by grabbing hold of her wrist, clasping it lightly between her thumb and palm. "Look," she urged, tipping her head towards the four deer, grazing in the near distance.

They watched them in total silence as the deer nibbled their way across the open field until something in the distance made a loud cracking sound and they bolted, white rumps flashing as they bound away. They gasped in awe, watching them charge through the long grass.

"Celine doesn't like the deer coming around," Rumi said, still staring off in the direction they disappeared into. "She says they tear up the garden."

Mira hummed. "They have to eat too, I guess."

She would feel less enamoured by them when she was spending the increasingly cool weather days building fencing to keep them out of the vegetable patch near the house. Digging holes for posts until her fingers blistered and tangling with snarls of chicken wire and netting. Rumi helped, of course—she was weirdly strong for her size—but she preferred tending the garden over building its infrastructure.

As time went on, Celine would leave them to their own devices for longer stretches. She was usually vague about where she was going or why, beyond saying things like, "working to support our mission as hunters."

When Celine was traveling, Rumi and Mira would stay up late, playing music at all hours and generally making a mess of the house, only to scramble to clean it the morning before she got home.

Occasionally, Celine would take Rumi with her. The solitude that followed reminded Mira of her parents' home.

In November of that year, the evening of the day Celine and Rumi returned home, Rumi appeared at Mira's bedroom door with something hidden behind her back.

"It's your birthday tomorrow, right, Mira?" Rumi asked, an edge of shyness in her voice.

Mira felt a flicker of embarrassment. She hadn't realized Rumi knew her birthday. She had almost hoped it would pass unobserved.

Rumi produced a slightly misshapen package, wrapped in a thin, blush pink paper. 'MIRA' was scrawled in purple marker in Rumi's tight and even hangul.

Mira accepted it as she handed it to her and pulled on the soft tissue paper, revealing the gift inside. It was an oversized powder blue sweatshirt, the front featuring an enormous white bear. On its head was a three-dimensional pink bow.

"I saw it in a store in Jeju City when I was traveling with Celine. I know it's a little silly, but—"

"No, it's perfect," Mira cut in, ignoring the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

"I'm glad you like it. I just thought it looked cozy, I guess. And you were always saying you get cold." Rumi trailed off, her eyes drifting downward before slipping back up to Mira's face, her smile unguarded, a little goofy.

"I like it a lot. I haven't… My family wasn't really big on birthdays, so. This is really nice."

"We don't do a lot. But Celine always makes miyeok-guk, and we visit my mom." Rumi's voice got softer as she spoke. She looked down at the sweatshirt, stroking the bear's paws. Mira slid her hand across the fabric and under Rumi's fingers. "I also thought… You kind of have the same expression."

Mira laughed despite herself, looking more closely at the bear's face. It looked unimpressed—as unimpressed as a polar bear on a sweatshirt could look, in any case. "Ha ha," she said, not looking up.

The next morning, as promised, miyeok-guk was served. Mira ate it ravenously—two bowls, as though the warm dish itself was the care and kindness Rumi and Celine had shown her. She wanted to carry the feeling with her always.

As the days grew shorter and the weather colder, their schedules became more structured. In addition to their farm chores and physical education, which mostly consisted of memorizing certain movements and poses while holding mok-geom, they started what Rumi and Mira would later refer to as 'band practice'.

Mira knew that Rumi could play guitar—she heard her strumming and noodling around sometimes in her room in the evening. But she'd never really heard her sing until the morning that Celine sent them to wait for her in the small room at the end of the hall.

Gentle morning light was filtering through the window as they stepped inside, highlighting little dust motes floating through the air. There were a few different instruments in the space—acoustic guitars, mostly—but in the corner, there was an upright piano. Mira approached it and sat at the bench, the white and black keys beneath her fingers sparking memories of childhood lessons.

"Oh, you play piano?" Rumi asked from where she stood in the doorway.

Mira didn't look up from the keys as she dragged her finger to middle C. "Shocking news: controlling, rich Korean parents obsessed with public image force daughter to study piano."

Rumi made a strange little sound, and Mira turned to look at her. She was shaking with silent laughter, her hands over her face. "Sorry," she choked out. "That was just really funny." Mira grinned stupidly, ignoring how making Rumi laugh made her feel like she was on top of the world.

Rumi came and sat next to her on the piano bench. "Play something?"

"Anything in particular?"

Rumi shrugged. Mira sat up and placed her hands on the keys, and began to play 'Ariran', a classic Korean folk song and one of the first songs she'd ever learned to play. Rumi listened silently for a verse, then began to sing.

The lyrics were somber and longing—a memory of a loved one. Rumi's voice was like a slowly growing fire, becoming more powerful the longer she sang. It landed deep inside Mira's chest, like a pinprick of light spreading wider and brighter. She felt an overwhelming urge to join her. Before she had even come to grips with it, she had opened her mouth, lifting her voice to harmonize with Rumi's.

She played the song through a second time, their voices flowing smoothly together. And that time she heard it—or felt it, she supposed. Those fine threads of vibration in the Honmoon. Rumi looked her in the eye, and it was clear she felt it too.

Learning each other's musical rhythms was not unlike learning each other's movements on the battlefield. Rumi was more of an organic singer and songwriter. Things flowed out of her naturally—as naturally as her ethereal singing voice. It never failed to light Mira up inside, Honmoon or not.

Mira was more clinical in her practice. She imagined it was the rigid piano lessons she'd endured as a child, but it didn't come naturally to her to riff or experiment when playing. That took time.

She felt similarly about their combat training. She was excellent at memorizing standard movements. But actually applying them in stressful situations, like an actual battle, felt way too chaotic.

When Celine introduced sparring into their routines, Mira was initially horrified. On the first day, she demonstrated it with Rumi, and Mira's heart was in her throat the entire time.

"It's critical you keep your eye on your opponent at all times," Celine said as she slammed the wooden staff she was using into the ground, narrowly missing Rumi's feet. "Exposing your back, not looking at the space below your waist or near your feet—all of these things are extremely dangerous."

Rumi had a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead as she leapt around, doing her best to dodge Celine. They were each armed with a jang bong, and while it was taller than Celine, it towered over Rumi. She struggled to wield it properly.

With a slicing motion, Celine cut across Rumi's lower legs. She tried to dodge—to jump—but she didn't clear it in time. She fell to the mat, hard.

Mira leapt to her feet from where she'd been sitting, watching, her fists clenched. Celine and Rumi looked over at her curiously. "Sorry," she mumbled through gritted teeth, sitting back down, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Celine offered Rumi a hand and pulled her up.

Mira grew to despise watching Rumi spar with Celine. She never gave Rumi a break. Mira felt Celine was harsher with Rumi than she was with herself. Uncertain what to do with the venomous feeling, Mira used it in her bouts with Celine. One day, when Rumi got a bloody nose in an earlier scuffle, when it was Mira's turn, she knocked Celine down so hard that she winded her.

In the new year, Celine brought them to sit near the dangsan tree again.

"You've been working hard, Mira," she began, arms folded across her chest.

"Thanks," Mira said, not sure how to receive that. She made a point of holding Celine's gaze.

"It's time for the next stage of your training. As you're aware, our power as hunters comes from our relationship with the Honmoon. It assists us, helps us heal, keeps us strong. It also provides us with a weapon." As she finished speaking, Celine put her hand into the air, her fingers threading through the fine lines of the Honmoon. But something larger began to appear.

As though reaching through a curtain, Celine's hand disappeared for a moment before reappearing, her hand clasping the scabbard of a geom, a broadsword that was almost as tall as her chest. Mira's eyes grew wide. The weapon glowed, pulsing with that same strange energy she felt from time to time when Rumi sang.

Brandishing the broadsword, Celine sliced through the air before sticking the tip into the ground, leaning it against her. "This is the weapon the Honmoon has provided me with. Today, we'll learn what your weapon is, Mira."

Mira blinked rapidly. "What about Rumi?" she asked, realizing her mouth was dry.

"Rumi has had an opportunity to commune with the Honmoon from a young age. She has already procured her weapon," Celine said, simply.

Mira's gaze snapped to Rumi. "What? Really? Why didn't you tell me?"

Rumi shrugged, although she looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Can I see it?"

Rumi nodded, getting to her feet. She performed the same action as Celine, pulling the threads, reaching inside. Her weapon materialized before them, a smaller sain-geom sword, more nimble than Celine's weapon.

"Mira," Celine began, grabbing her attention once more. "It's your turn. Reach into the Honmoon just as Rumi and I have and discover your weapon."

Mira stood, swallowing nervously. She reached out her hand, searching for the threads of the Honmoon. It took a few swipes before she was able to harness her concentration. The lines appeared, wavering as her fingers passed over them.

She pressed her hand through, phasing in. At first, she felt nothing. Just that strange stillness in the airless space. But then she felt it—rough against her fingertips. The handle of a staff. She grasped it and pulled. It emerged slowly from the ether, much longer than she expected. It kept coming until a large curved blade appeared at the end.

Mira stepped back, holding the weapon lengthwise before her. It was intricately decorated with flourishes carved all over. The metal handle was cool in her hands, but she could feel a warm radiating from the glowing blade. It felt strangely 'right' in her hands—as though it had been made for her.

"A gok-do," Celine said. "Good for defense." Mira looked at Rumi as she said it. If she had no other motivation to learn to fight demons, defending Rumi was certainly high on her list.

"Really cool," Rumi said with a grin. Mira found she couldn't help but smile back.

"Good work, Mira," Celine said, her expression mostly neutral but a small curve to her lips. Mira flushed, disliking the way the praise rippled through her.

"Thank you, Celine," she said, lowering her head.

"You girls spend the rest of the afternoon getting more familiar with your weapons. I'll have dinner ready at the usual time." Celine retreated, walking back to the main house. Mira watched her go, feeling unsettled.

She startled when Rumi poked her arm.

"So," Rumi began. "What do you think? Pretty cool, right?"

"Yeah. It's… Interesting," Mira said, scratching the back of her neck.

"You know what we should do?"

Mira shook her head.

"We should spar!" Rumi said with a grin.

"I don't know, Rumi, what if I—"

"Come on, Mira. Celine said to get more familiar. What's more familiar than that? We're about to have a lifetime together as hunters. There's going to be a lot more fighting than just playing around, sparring in the farm yard."

"I don't want to hurt you," Mira said, tensing.

"It's okay. Look." Rumi flipped her sain-geom so the scabbard was perpendicular to her arm, the blade pointing down. "It doesn't hurt us." She drew her bare fingers across the edge of the weapon. They phased through with a ripple, the threads of the Honmoon visible. "See?"

Mira blinked. She thumbed the blade of her gok-do, watching it disappear, hearing the soft hum. "I… I feel like we should still be careful," she mumbled. She looked down at the ground, then back up to see Rumi smiling fondly at her.

"I'll be careful. I promise." She stepped back, parrying with her sword, slipping into a defensive fencing pose. "Come on. Let's spar!"

Mira took a deep breath and entered her own pose, crossing her weapon. Rumi lunged forward, and they clashed, the impact rippling the Honmoon. Rumi forced her backwards as Mira scrambled to defend, breaking her press with a sweep of the gok-do's handle, almost disarming her.

She sprang backwards, swiping at Mira as she did. She dashed left, out of Mira's reach, leaping onto a nearby wooden crate and then up onto the sloping roof of the old building.

"Rumi…" Mira grumbled, although she was certain she couldn't hear her. "Not on the roof!" she shouted.

"Are you scared?" she teased, peering down at her.

Mira huffed.

"Demons won't take it easy on us, you know," Rumi said with a softer expression.

Mira grappled against the wall, using her momentum and the Honmoon to push herself up, following Rumi onto the roof of the training building. The giwa roof tiles were coarse but slippery in the places where moss was growing. Rumi lunged at her, surprising her, but she successfully evaded, turning to the side, letting her blade breeze past her with a buzzing sound.

"Not so close to the edge," Mira hissed, although she swung the base of her gok-do at Rumi's feet as she did. Rumi did an entirely unnecessary back flip, landing deftly on the roof's ridge. Mira grounded herself with the base of her weapon and sailed up to stand beside her.

Before her feet were back on the tiles, Rumi lunged again. Mira twisted her body, grabbing Rumi's wrist with one hand. Rumi's momentum jolted them forward, causing Mira to lose her footing. Mira managed to hold onto the ridge of the rooftop, but Rumi wasn't so lucky. Mira watched, terrified, as Rumi slid down the other side of the roof, clawing at the tiles.

"Rumi!" Mira shouted as she disappeared over the edge. Scrambling forward but careful not to slip and fall herself, Mira made her way down, gliding along the side of the eave. Rumi was on the ground below, on her back, looking more embarrassed than injured. Mira's heart was still racing.

Dropping down next to her, Mira grabbed her arm and squeezed. "Are you okay?"

Rumi nodded, looking up at her, wincing. "Yeah. My back broke my fall."

"Rumi," Mira groaned. "Did the Honmoon soften it at all?"

"I think so." She moved to sit up, hissing as her palms touched the earth. Mira reached out and took one of Rumi's hands, flipping it over. It was covered in scrapes and scratches, red and angry.

"Rumi, your hands," Mira said, pitifully.

"It's just some scratches." Rumi's tone was dismissive, and she was smiling, although obviously a bit uncomfortable.

Mira insisted Rumi come back to the main house and let her clean the wound and bandage it. Rumi deflected, saying it felt excessive, but she allowed herself to be dragged.

In the bathroom, Mira wiped her palms with a soft, wet cloth. She rummaged around in the drawers until she found a roll of gauze. She put a small amount, just enough to cover the scrapes, around each of Rumi's hands, tying it at the back.

When she was done, Mira pressed a kiss to the soft, white fabric in Rumi's right palm, then her left. "All better," Mira said with a small, uncertain smile.

Rumi blinked several times, the faintest colour dusting her cheeks. "Thanks." She swallowed—Mira could see her throat move as she did. "I'll try to be more careful."

Mira knew this was a lie, but she appreciated that Rumi was humouring her.

As their combat training intensified, Mira felt as though Rumi's sleep was getting worse. She was visibly tired more often in the mornings. On those winter days when Mira rose before the sun to check on the chickens, Rumi was there at the kitchen table almost every day, waiting for her. She wasn't sure how long she'd been awake—sometimes she wondered if she'd slept at all.

The first time Rumi came to her room in the middle of the night, she knocked. Mira stirred, blinking, unseeing into the dark room. "Come in?" She mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

The blurry silhouette of Rumi appeared, opening the door just a crack. She hesitated in the doorway until Mira repeated, "Come in, Rumi."

At that, she slipped inside, closing the door behind her. Mira sat up in bed. She wasn't sure of the time, but there was no light in the sky just yet. "Are you okay?" Mira asked, turning to face her.

"Yeah. I'm fine, actually. Sorry. I shouldn't have woken you up. I'll just—"

"Rumi. Come here."

Rumi seemed to hesitate again, just for a moment, before approaching the bed. "Sit," Mira urged, patting the space beside her.

"I'm sorry," Rumi mumbled.

"Did something happen?"

"Um. I just had a bad dream, I guess. And I couldn't get back to sleep. My mind just won't… Shut off." Nearer now, even in the dark room, Mira could see that her face was tear-stained.

"Do you want to sleep in here tonight?" Mira heard herself offer. Rumi looked down, picking at the hem of her shorts.

"Is that okay?" She asked, tipping her head down, looking sidelong at Mira.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course."

Mira scooted closer to the wall, making space for Rumi to lie down beside her. She tipped onto her side, pulling the duvet up over them.

Rumi shifted backwards, pressing her back against Mira's front. Mira bit back a sharp intake of breath, trying not to go stiff with surprise. Rumi then reached behind her and took Mira's hand, draping it over her own stomach, lacing their fingers together.

"Is this okay?" Rumi asked, craning her neck slightly in Mira's direction.

"Yeah—yeah, it's—this is fine," Mira replied, recognizing that her tone made it sound not very fine at all. Rumi almost seemed amused, but she kept quiet, nestling into her pillow. Mira willed her heartbeat to return to normal, breathing slowly and deeply.

The next morning, Mira woke up with Rumi draped across her, her face nuzzled up against the skin of her neck, as if that wasn't the most devastatingly intimate thing in the world. So, Rumi was a cuddly sleeper—Mira would later learn this was a lifelong affliction.

The rate of her nightmares seemed to ebb and flow. More than once, Mira woke up to a scream or a shout from Rumi's room down the hallway. She thought about going to her sometimes, but something about it felt like it crossed a line in another direction. So she let Rumi take the lead on whether she was looking for comfort.

One cold morning in March, Celine announced she'd be taking them both with her to Jeju City to run some errands. Rumi and Mira exchanged a glance and grinned. Mira had no idea why Celine was bringing them both along this time—she frankly didn't care. Getting away from the farm after so many months was exciting.

After breakfast, Celine gave them some time to get ready. Mira went straight to her room. She knew exactly what she needed.

Mira rummaged through her desk, searching for the old Lotte Dream Cacao tin. When her fingers closed around the lightly dented metal, she pulled it out. She twisted the lid off, revealing her small stash of cash—around half a million won. She'd collected it slowly over the years from her family, squirreling it away as a 'just in case' fund. It wasn't as though she'd ever been denied something as a child. But her parents and staff tended to acquire things without any cash passing through her own hands. The money felt more like a security blanket for some future she had trouble imagining.

She put a few bills into a paper envelope and stuffed it into her pocket. She had learned that Rumi's birthday wasn't until summer, but she wanted to be prepared. She wasn't sure the next time they'd go into town.

The ride to Jeju City was peaceful in Celine's truck. Rumi sat in the back with her, even though Celine seemed mildly annoyed—"I'm not your chauffeur, girls," she said. But she didn't make her move.

They looked out the window together, pointing out this and that on the horizon. They saw several deer on the side of the road, nibbling at the overgrown grass. Celine watched them warily, slowing.

When they arrived in the city, Celine dropped them off at one of the large public markets. She gave each of them a bit of cash for food and told them to be ready for her to pick them up in a couple of hours. It was clear from her tone that she had no interest in waiting.

Elated by the colourful lights and myriad shops, they wandered inside. The air was warm and steamy, food stalls interspersed with retail, the smell of caramelizing sugar, grilled meat, and freshly brewed tea filling their senses. They explored the aisles, eyes scanning the different displays.

Mira was flipping through a used paperback when Rumi approached her from behind, two packets in hand.

"Look, I got us hotteok!" Rumi chirped, holding a warm, sweet-smelling pancake out to Mira. She smiled, accepting the snack, amused that Rumi managed to spend her pocket money in less than ten minutes. They walked around the market eating their snacks until Mira felt her hunger return.

Mira opted to buy a few sticks of tanghulu from a Chinese vendor—selecting grapes, strawberries, and mandarin segments for them to share.

"So sweet," Rumi said happily, her eyes sparkling. "I'm going to have a sugar crash later."

They walked for a while, enjoying the sounds and smells of the space. Rumi bought some Miffy-themed pencils from a stationery store, and Mira got a pair of alpaca wool socks. They picked up some greens from a produce stand, choi-sum and gaeran, a bag of new crop brown rice, and a jar of vegan kimchi that Rumi was fascinated by.

After some time had passed, Mira suggested they split up for a bit. "Just so we get to see everything we want," she explained, her best attempt at a lie.

"Yeah, alright," Rumi agreed, although she seemed a bit confused. "I guess text me if you can't find me." They wandered in different directions, Mira disappearing down a nearby hall.

There, under the fluorescent lights of the market, nestled between the stalls with wooden boxes of fresh fruit piled high and plastic bins of fish, was a modest cart, covered in jewelry. Necklaces hung from black felted t-bars, bracelets and rings rested in slotted trays. One of the necklaces caught Mira's eye, drawing her in closer. It wasn't anything extravagant, just a thin gold chain.

"See something you like?" The woman behind the stall asked. She was wearing a face mask, but Mira could tell she was smiling, the skin around her eyes crinkling.

"I—" Mira began, hesitating. The woman followed her line of sight to the gold chain.

"Ah," she said. "Yes, a very nice piece. Very high quality. I can give you an excellent price."

Mira felt the weight of the envelope of cash she'd brought in her pocket. "Um. How much?"

"One hundred thousand won. Best deal you'll get in the market today," She said with a smile. "It would look so nice on you!"

"Oh, it's, uh. Not for me," Mira mumbled. Her gaze involuntarily flicked to Rumi, a ways in the distance, looking at notebooks.

"Oh, for your pretty friend, then? She looks like someone who enjoys the finer things."

This interaction was making Mira terribly uncomfortable for some reason. She felt warm under her coat in the bright lights. "Y-yeah."

"So, you'll take it then?"

Mira reached into her pocket and pulled out two fifty-thousand-won bills. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll take that one."

The woman happily accepted her cash and placed the necklace in a small, black velvet case.

"She's going to love it," she declared as she handed the package over, holding on to Mira's wrist for a moment and winking. Mira tried to smile, but it came out as more of a nervous grimace.

She turned around and walked back into the main hall of the market, her eyes scanning for Rumi.

When Mira spotted her, she immediately knew something was wrong. A man, maybe ten years older, was speaking to her, low and close. She was turned away, poised as if about to run, her expression polite but pinched. Mira moved through the crowd so quickly her head spun, the sound of her pulse slamming in her ears.

As she reached Rumi and the cretin who was bothering her, she slipped into the narrow space between them. She faced Rumi, speaking to her directly. "I've been looking for you. I'm sorry I'm late." She grabbed Rumi's hand in her own, her expression startled but relieved.

"Hey. I was talking to her," a gruff voice said. "Don't you have any manners, girl?"

"She doesn't know you, and we're leaving," Mira said without turning around. She began to walk away when the man reached past her and tried to grab hold of Rumi's arm.

Mira reacted instantly, elbowing the man in the gut and stomping down on his foot. He yelped in pain, stumbling backwards before Mira turned and struck him in the face with the heel of her palm, knocking him to the floor. People around them had noticed the fray, a hum of concerned voices swelling up around them. Mira put her hand on the small of Rumi's back and guided them quickly away, disappearing into the crowd, moving as fast as she could without breaking into a run.

"I'm sorry," Mira huffed, adrenaline beginning to fade, fear surging in. "I know you could've handled that, I just… I saw him and I panicked."

"It's okay, Mira, really." Rumi's tone was soothing, but Mira didn't look over at her, eyes glued on the exit of the market.

"I don't like when people get in your space," Mira said, beginning to feel breathless. "I don't like watching you and Celine fight. I don't like sparring with you. I don't like it when you climb on the roof," she continued, thoughts spilling out in a stream of consciousness.

They burst out of the entrance, onto the sidewalk. The fresh air felt nice, the sunlight. Mira took a deep breath. She finally looked at Rumi, and their eyes met.

She looked… Curious, almost. Her brow was furrowed, a small line appearing above the bridge of her nose, as though she were deep in thought.

"I'm sorry," Mira said, again, hoping to stave off anything too devastatingly perceptive that might be happening in Rumi's mind.

"You don't have to be sorry, Mira. Really. And I'm okay."

"I just—I just need to—" Mira felt an urgent need to explain herself. She wasn't trying to treat Rumi like she was some sort of fragile princess. She just found the idea of something happening to her abjectly horrifying.

"Mira!" Rumi said, louder, almost shouting, before devolving into nervous laughter. "Calm down," she added, gentler. She reached out and grabbed hold of Mira's forearm, trying to steady her. "I'm right here. I'm okay."

"Rumi," Mira mumbled, feeling pathetic. And then Rumi pulled her into a hug. Rumi—hugging her—after she was the one who had been harassed. Mira felt like she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her. But she hugged Rumi back. How could she not?

"I'm not something fragile," Rumi said against her shoulder.

"I know…"

"I appreciate that you care about me, though," she said, quieter. Mira could barely hear her over the sounds of the city around them. "I care about you, too."

Mira tightened her grip around Rumi for a moment, sighing. When she pulled back, that was the first time she felt it. Or maybe the first time she acknowledged it. She looked at Rumi's face, her cheeks slightly pink from the exertion of running out of the market, her lips parted as if preparing to speak.

She wanted to kiss her. She wanted to kiss her until she was out of breath. It was a heartbreaking realization for Mira, one she had hoped wasn't obvious in her expression.

"Mira, I—" Rumi began.

"We should find Celine," Mira said quickly.

Rumi examined Mira's face before letting her eyes drift downward. "Yeah. Okay."

The ride home in the truck was silent and slightly awkward. Occasionally, Mira would look over at Rumi, but every time she did, she was staring out the window, watching the scenery go by. By dinner, things seemed more normal, but Rumi spent the remainder of the evening in her room with the door closed.

The next morning, at breakfast, Celine had an announcement.

"Girls, I have some news. I know I've been traveling a lot lately. I appreciate how well you've taken care of things while I'm away." Mira shuffled in her seat ever so slightly at that comment, unable to repress a swell of pride.

"Now, I'm finally able to share with you what I've been working on. As I'm sure you're aware, historically, hunters have existed as groups of three. There were some unforeseen… Challenges involved in finding the third member of your group."

Mira's eyes snapped over to Rumi. She looked as surprised as Mira felt.

Celine continued, undaunted by their reactions. "However, her presence was finally revealed to me, and as of—" She glanced at her watch. "11 AM Pacific Standard Time, she'll be boarding a flight to Seoul. We'll pick her up at RKPC tomorrow morning."

Mira took a deep breath, trying not to panic. Everything was going to change. Again.