Archive of Our Own

just the voices of souls that we've lost
to meet you again, and they say—

‘i've been waiting for you
since the day you were born,
thousands of years ago.
hope it makes you feel at home.’

/

Rumi is halfway through a dense and dusty volume on early Buddhist texts when she feels the pull. It starts near her forehead, the slightest bit of tension just behind her right eyebrow. She taps lightly on her phone’s screen—21:42—before gently massaging her skin.

“You know it’s just going to get worse,” Jinu says.

“I have time,” Rumi mumbles, going back to her research.

And she does. Not all souls indicate at her forehead; that this one is means it’s still making its way to her. Technically, she could speed up the process and meet them wherever the middle is. But this could be a very crucial text, and Rumi doesn’t want to break the spell.

She manages to lose herself for another hour or so, before the muscles around her stomach start to twist and cramp. Rumi pushes the book to the side and rests her cheek on the table, rhythmically muttering a few meditations to soothe the pain.

“I don’t know why you’re putting this off.”

“I don’t know why you’re bothering me,” Rumi grumbles. She knocks the table with her knee, sending everything atop it into a series of sudden bounces. Jinu, the centuries-old ghost who lives in her pen, winces.

Rumi smiles, before another sharp pain sparks behind her belly button.

“Okay,” she sighs. She closes the book and slides it to the top right corner of the table, the way she’s always done to indicate to the librarians that she’s done with something. She methodically packs all of her things, making sure to slide Jinu to the absolute bottom of her pencil case.

She slings her backpack over her shoulder and makes her way out of the building, the discomfort in her body abating even from the simple act of moving. The night air is cool on her face as she steps outside; Rumi looks to the sky and wishes she could follow a star or the moon, some kind of signal other than unrelenting, targeted pain.

But this is how generations of Shepherds ferried souls long before her, and this is how she was trained. Rumi puts in her earbuds and shuffles in a circle, slowly, until the right direction makes itself known to her.

“It begins in a village,” she recites.

Rumi starts to run.

/

It begins in a village with too many mouths and too little to eat. The village is starving, under constant threat from invaders who destroy their homes, kill their men, and steal their food. There lives a woman, among many women like her, who has lost everything she has loved.

She is unremarkable, except for what she will become.

She lays on the floor, her hands stretched toward her husband and daughter, whose bodies grow colder by the minute. She will join them if she stays here, but there is nowhere else for her to go. She cannot move.

“I know someone who can help you.”

The voice sounds very far away, and the woman doesn’t recognize it, so she makes no move to reply. But she is lifted by two hands at either side, one set significantly smaller than the other. It burns when they touch her. She is deposited at the town’s gate, where a tall man in all black looms over her, his hat stretching to the ends of the sky. He doesn’t ask her to follow, but she does anyway. For weeks she walks through lands that should kill her; she eats no food and drinks no water, but she does not collapse. The man in the hat is always in front of her, and she knows it is safe to step in his tracks.

He leads her far underground to a wide open cavern teeming with souls that reach out but can never touch. She sees nothing but souls, the man, and an endless barricade of fire, flames like teeth snarling against the air.

“You have come to ask me for something,” the fire snaps. “You seek what only I can give you.”

The woman bows her head and says nothing. The skin at the back of her neck repeatedly cracks and heals in a constant cycle of burning.

“I give no gifts without a price,” the fire continues. “What do you have to offer me?”

“Nothing,” the woman cries. “Please, I have nothing left. I need them.”

A tendril of flame snakes out and lifts the woman’s chin. There are no eyes for her to stare into, but she is looking at something malevolent and endless.

“You are never without,” the voice promises. Flames lick across her shoulders and curl into her hair. “There is always something to give.”

It begins with a woman, and she is hungry.

/

Rumi doesn’t have to run for long, maybe twenty minutes, before she spots her the target of her search. The woman is just as identifiable as all of the other souls Rumi has helped in the past—slightly shimmery, less solid than a regular person would be—except this one isn’t waiting patiently for someone to guide her. She’s doing backflips off the park bench, actually.

Rumi stops, just outside the gleam of a streetlight, and watches the woman flip, land clumsily in the grass, and circle back to the front of the bench to climb and do it again. Rumi digs through her backpack and clips her pen to her collar.

“Oh, now you want to talk to me?”

“No. Well—no. Shut up.” Rumi jogs closer, making sure she and the soul are the only people in earshot. “Hey!” she calls, maintaining eye contact when the woman glances over. “Do you need help?”

The woman twists to look behind her, breaking into a smile when she doesn’t find anyone else Rumi could possibly be talking to. “Yeah!” she replies. She wipes her hands on her pants, even though nothing from the physical world could dirty her. “Do you know how to stick the landing?”

“Uh…”

“I know there’s a trick to it; I think I learned when I was a kid. But I’m having a hard time remembering it right now.”

“I meant something more along the lines of ‘Do you need help finding a home in the afterlife’, but I guess I could help with the flipping…”

“Afterlife?” The woman frowns. “I don’t think I’m dead.” She pats down her body as if that will give her an answer. “Wait! You can see me!”

“Yes.” Rumi puts on her most calming smile, happy to finally be in familiar territory. “I know it must be confusing, finding yourself in this liminal space between life and death, but that’s why I’m here. I can help you get where you need to go.”

“I think I just need to go home,” the woman says.

It’s Rumi’s turn to frown, though she doesn’t let the expression stay on her face too long. There was a learning curve when she first started escorting souls on her own; maybe this is just the prelude to unlocking a new skill.

“Let me start over,” she placates, “I think I’m a little out of rhythm. I help guide souls like you to the world beyond. My name is Rumi, and I’m usually a lot better at this.”

“I’m Zoey,” Zoey smiles. “I think you’re doing great! But I’m definitely not dead.”

Rumi stands and watches as Zoey attempts another flip. She lands, teeters on her right leg, and hops to avoid falling.

“Don’t lock your knees,” Rumi sighs. “You’re tensing before you land and it’s throwing off your balance. Imagine you’re a spring.”

“Oh, I already know I am.” Zoey perches on the top of the bench and launches, landing cleanly on the ground. Her hair, pulled into two endearing, loose buns, flops as she finds her footing. “Hey! Up top.”

She holds her right hand up, and Rumi has no choice but to walk over and give her a high-five. Their hands don’t actually make contact—one of them passes through the other and Rumi feels a zap travel up her arm—but she thinks the gesture should still count.

Zoey sits down, studying her hand and waving it through the air. Unsurprisingly, it behaves exactly like a hand being waved through the air.

Rumi rests an arm across the back of the bench and props her head up on a fist.

“Maybe we could chat?” she suggests gently.

“Sure.” Zoey finally turns her full attention to Rumi. Her eyes are big and shimmering, made even more noticeable by the ephemeral state of her existence. Rumi looks at her and has to suppress the urge to hide.

“Do you remember how you got here?” Rumi asks. It isn’t how she usually starts, but nothing about this is following any kind of familiar path.

“Not really.” Zoey keeps smiling, but Rumi watches the way her eyes never stop moving, the way her fingers tap at her thighs.

“What do you remember?” Zoey’s breathing picks up, and the corners of her smile start to wobble. “Actually, let me tell you how I usually do this. I come from a long line of Shepherds. We’re trained from childhood to guide souls from the mortal world to the afterlife. I know you’ve said you’re not dead; I’m just telling you how it normally goes,” Rumi adds when it looks like Zoey is going to interrupt.

“Will you still help?”

“Of course. There isn’t anyone else who could do this; I’m not going to abandon you.”

The pen jolts in her pocket so suddenly that Rumi has to clamp her hand over it to get it to stop.

“I—”

But Rumi doesn’t get to finish her thought. It feels as if a hand is expanding inside her throat, rendering both speech and breathing impossible. She felt this in the beginning of her training, when she took too long to get to a soul, but she never lets it get past the stomach warning for this exact reason. The spasms in her throat are never something she can prepare for, and the sensation of them lingers far longer than she knows it should.

“Rumi!” Zoey’s face is close to hers, her hands on Rumi’s shoulders. “You can’t die; who’s gonna guide your soul and also I don’t think I can do CPR like this—”

Rumi inhales an ugly gasp of breath as the pressure relents. She instinctively turns herself until she feels the pull of a soul.

“Not—possible—” she rasps, bent over, hands on her knees as she catches her breath.

“What?”

She lowers herself to the ground, pressing her cheek to cool grass as she spreads her arms as wide as they can go. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

“Okay.”

Zoey lies down next to her, clasping her hands over her stomach as she turns to look at Rumi. She doesn’t look as defined as Rumi knows she would in her physical body, but Rumi can see the places where freckles should be; she can imagine a dusting of pink in her cheeks and maybe a little dirt on the tip of her nose.

“You’re surprisingly calm about all of this.”

Zoey shrugs and bounces her heels on the ground. “I don’t really know what any of this is so I don’t know if I should be freaking out. Also, sometimes you just need to lay down. I get that.”

Rumi smiles, for no reason that has to do with her job.

“We should get going soon,” she says, though she makes no move to get up. “I don’t want to know what happens when I get to the heart warning.”

“Like…you might die?”

“I don’t know,” Rumi replies. “No,” she amends, “but I don’t know what it would feel like. I get feelings in my body when a soul shows up. Forehead, navel, throat,” she explains, hovering her finger along the corresponding areas of Zoey’s body. She stops just above Zoey’s chest. “Heart. Each one feels worse than the one before.”

“I really hate everything you’re saying, but you look so pretty saying it.”

“Roll. Over,” Jinu mumbles, his voice muted, quiet enough that Zoey can’t hear.

“Hey.”

And Rumi does roll over, though mostly as a side effect of being startled out of her fucking skin at the unfamiliar voice above them. She closes her eyes, takes a few calming breaths to settle her heart rate, and realizes the call of the second soul has stopped pulling so hard.

“I told you,” Jinu grumps.

Rumi, eyes still closed, reaches into her shirt pocket and throws the pen away.

She opens her eyes to find a curtain of pink hair shining down at her, and behind it, the face of the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Okay,” Zoey acquiesces, “I wasn’t dead before but I might be now.”

“Not really how it works, Zoey,” Rumi replies absently.

Privately, she agrees.

/

“What are you doing?” the impossible soul continues. Rumi simply stares at her and thinks about how she shouldn’t exist.

“Rumi had to lay down,” Zoey answers. She stands up and dusts off her pants that still haven’t gotten dirty. “I’m Zoey.”

“Okay.” Zoey holds out her arm and waits. “Mira,” Mira says, finally shaking Zoey’s hand.

This prompts Rumi to stand up and study their shimmering forms, because as far as she can tell they actually made physical contact with each other. Everything she’s learned, everything Celine has taught her, has indicated that that should be impossible.

Rumi pokes a finger through the back of Zoey’s hand, just as a test. It goes straight through the way she expected it would, coming out the back of Mira’s.

“Hey,” Mira repeats, louder this time. “Who are you.”

Rumi sighs and fiddles with the end of her braid. “I haven’t done this before but—do you want to come back to my place? This will be a lot easier to explain there.”

“Okay!”

“Absolutely not.”

Rumi rolls her eyes, turning to face Mira. “Where were you before you got here?”

“What?”

“How did you get here? What were you doing an hour ago?” Mira stays silent and glares. “What’s your last name?”

“Kang,” Zoey answers, then clamps her hands over her mouth. “Sorry,” she says from behind her palms. “I don’t know where that came from.”

Mira has stopped looking at Rumi and is, instead, regarding Zoey with a shocked expression and the faintest hint of a blush in her cheeks. “You’re that skateboarder,” she says slowly.

“Yes!” Zoey yells. “I definitely knew that! Rumi, did you know I can skateboard?”

“But you couldn’t land a flip,” Rumi mumbles. She retrieves Jinu’s pen and, with another deep sigh, puts him back in her shirt pocket. “Can we go back to my place now?”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” Mira replies.

And you’re out of your fucking body, Rumi wants to respond. Instead, she takes a deep breath and decides to be patient.

“Okay, let me explain,” she says, trying to stay calm. “My name is Rumi. I’m a grad student by day, but I also guide wandering souls back to the afterlife. It’s not, like, a just hobby or anything; I’m really good at it. Kind of spent my whole life training to do it; it’s a sacred duty passed on through generations of Shepherds—that kind of thing. I’m not some weirdo asking you to come back to my place; I have resources at home that will help us figure this out. I know what I’m doing.”

There is a long pause after Rumi finishes speaking. “Good for you,” Mira finally says, dripping with skepticism.

“So…you’ll come with?”

Mira waits, flitting her gaze between Rumi and Zoey. “No.” She walks away from them without another word.

“Mira!” Rumi turns to Zoey, who looks nervous again. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?” She doesn’t wait for an answer before she jogs to catch up to Mira.

“I’m not joining you,” Mira says, quickening her pace.

“I’m kind of the only person who can help you, actually—”

“Don’t need help.”

“No one else can see you, Mira.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You could figure it out faster if you just—”

“Hey!” Mira stops and whirls around, her pink hair briefly fanning out behind her. “You don’t know shit about me. I don’t care to know anything about you. You’re not responsible for me. If I decide to change my mind, I’ll find you.”

She walks out of the park, onto a sidewalk, and passes right through a car as she crosses the street.

Rumi jogs back to Zoey, thoughts racing as she works through how to overcome this unexpected obstacle.

“Rumi?”

“Don’t worry,” Rumi says, waving a hand dismissively (though she’s unconsciously also started to chew on the nail of her other thumb). “I’ll get her back; I can sense where she is.”

“Okay. You’re not gonna, like, fall down with more excruciating pain, are you?”

“No,” Rumi replies. Truthfully, she has no idea whether she will or not, but Zoey doesn’t need to know that. “Come on, it’s not a long walk.”

Zoey nods and falls into step with Rumi.

She glances pointedly at Rumi’s pocket. “That’s a cool pen.”

Jinu doesn’t say anything, and even though they aren’t connected in any way and Rumi can’t read his mind—she knows he desperately wants to.

.

Rumi lets Zoey ramble on about something on the walk back to her place, mostly to give herself the opportunity to think of how the fuck she’s going to handle their current situation. She pores through her memories of her training days, trying desperately to come up with any bit of information that might suggest two souls appearing simultaneously was a possibility. She remembers asking Celine about that, after she’d gotten through the required memorization and learned the most important rituals. Rumi was so rarely comfortable speaking to people, even if they were dead. The idea that she might have to speak to more than one dead person, just when she’d wrapped her head around the idea of speaking to them at all, was enough to send her anxiety spiking.

“What if there’s a plane crash and I have to help hundreds of people find each other and where they’re supposed to go? I’m only one person; I don’t think I can do it, Celine.”

But Celine had simply held her hand, ended lessons early for the day, and explained that those weren’t the kind of souls she had to worry about helping. She wasn’t the only Shepherd, Celine had explained as she cooked Rumi’s favorite dinner, simply the only human one. Everything in the afterlife had its place, and every place had its own set of guides. Rumi was part of a long line of Shepherds responsible for one very small and very specific part of the underworld.

Rumi remembers how easily Celine had smiled and smoothed her hair, how good her food had tasted. Rumi felt so much uncertainty about her journey to become a Shepherd, but she never, ever doubted how much Celine loved her.

Loves me still, she thinks as she feels the weight of her phone in her pocket.

Rumi pulls her phone out and navigates to her message thread with Celine, wondering how she can possibly phrase her question so she doesn’t sound stupid, crazy, or unsure. Celine appreciates confidence and objectivity, information without exaggeration. I’m walking back to my apartment with two souls because they decided to show up at the same time is as close as she can get, but she doesn’t think Celine would like that either.

She taps a finger on her screen to light it up. It’s past eleven by now, which means Celine has been asleep for a few hours. Rumi could send off some unfiltered texts and wait for a response (and likely a scolding) in the morning, but on the off-chance that Celine has deviated from her routine and is still awake, Rumi abstains.

Something unusual happened with my latest project, she fires off instead. Can you call me in the morning? She adds a purple heart at the end. Celine always responds in kind when Rumi sends one first.

“Rumi? Hello?”

“Huh?” Rumi looks up to see Zoey waving a hand in her face.

“You stopped,” Zoey explains.

“Yep! Yes I did, I know that.” Rumi looks beyond Zoey and realizes they’re in front of her building, which is fair—no one is better at reaching a destination while entirely unaware of the journey than Rumi.

She jogs up the steps and holds the door open, though Zoey is still on the sidewalk watching her.

“Ooh, can I phase through that as a ghost?”

Rumi grins easily. “Give it a shot.” She steps inside and closes the door.

Zoey barely waits for the invitation, barrelling forward so fast it almost looks like she’s floating.

Rumi holds in a guffaw as Zoey thuds against the glass.

“Guess that’s a no,” she squeaks out. She tries to open the door herself but can’t grip it; Rumi pushes it open from the inside and silently waits for Zoey to join her. “I can’t believe we’re still bound by physics,” Zoey groans.

“Not physics,” Rumi replies. “Just doors. But the one to my apartment isn’t as sturdy so please don’t try that again.”

Zoey gives her a quick salute and the two of them quickly make their way to Rumi’s flat.

It’s ready for visitors only in the sense that it’s sparsely decorated and therefore very easy to keep clean. Otherwise, Rumi’s apartment is an eclectic mix of shrine and comfort—there are personal touches for her, of course, but every room bears some evidence of her Shepherding duties. Rumi never has to explain herself at home.

“Oh my god, do you have pets!” Zoey screams, running over to inspect the corner that houses Bird’s perches and mobiles.

“Oh, um. Sort of?” Rumi scratches the back of her neck. “They might not be here right now, but they’ll probably be back by tomorrow.”

“What are their names?”

“Well, they’re a cat and a bird, so…Cat. And Bird. I’ve never really been able to determine if they’re pets or, um, work associates.”

Zoey frowns. “They need better names than that.”

“What’s wrong with Cat and Bird?”

“Names are super important, Rumi.” Zoey huffs. “You don’t call your parents Mother and Father, do you?”

Rumi’s cheeks color. “I don’t, uh, I actually don’t call them anything. They died when I was very little.”

“Oh. Rumi, I’m really sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” Rumi reassures. “I don’t remember anything about the night they died, or about them, really.”

“That doesn’t make it better?”

Rumi shakes her head. “I’m not saying this right. I just meant you don’t need to be extra sad for me. I don’t miss them that much. My aunt Celine raised me and we’re really close.”

“Still.” Zoey’s voice softens, and she fixes Rumi with a direct, gentle look. “Losing your parents so young is hard. There’s no time limit on being sad about it. In fact, I think I have a fresh clock on being sad about it for you, since I just found out.”

“Zoey.” Rumi smiles and swallows a few times before speaking. “We’re getting off topic. Maybe we can talk more in the morning?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure, I guess you probably need to sleep and I don’t. I don’t, right? I guess I’ve never really been alive and not had to sleep at some point, and maybe since I’m not really alive right now, that means—”

“Hey.” Rumi waits until Zoey stops speaking. “You’re right, you probably don’t need to sleep, but I bet you could if you wanted to, anyway.”

Zoey looks a little buoyed by that, but there’s still the slightest quiver at the corners of her mouth.

“Do you want me to keep you company out here?”

“What, you don’t want ghosts in your room?”

“Uh…”

“I’m kidding, Rumi,” Zoey smiles. “I love sleepovers!”

“Okay, yeah, let me—I’m just gonna go get some pajamas and I’ll be right back.”

Zoey gives her a double thumbs up. “You know where I’ll be!”

Rumi just lets that one go.

/

“—miiiii, Rumi Rumi Rumi…”

Rumi cracks an eye open to find Zoey alarmingly close to her face. “Um?”

Zoey grins. “You’re awake! Also, your alarm is going off in your room and I can’t do anything about it.”

“Oh, shit.” Rumi rolls off the couch, barely taking a moment to pick her blanket up off the floor. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed!” Rumi calls back after jogging to her room to silence her phone.

“Again, I’m not on any kind of timetable and will just be sitting here waiting for your pets to show up!”

Rumi chuckles and slides a hand down her face. Her hair is clumped in strange places and her back twinges slightly after a night of cramped sleeping. She takes a deep breath and centers herself, walking her senses down her body and tapping into each soul marking. She doesn’t feel any warnings or tightness, which she takes as a good sign that she won’t incur any consequences of being separated from Mira. Speaking of—

Rumi focuses for a little longer. Zoey’s soul is loud and overwhelming, especially given their proximity. Rumi feels warm and big and heavy from the there of it all, and she has to concentrate to see past it. Mira’s soul is quieter, but, curiously, just as near.

“She came back about an hour ago,” Jinu supplies from his resting place on her nightstand. Right next to her phone, in fact, which is alarmingly close to dying.

It’s never just one crisis that Rumi has to manage.

She growls and plugs in her phone. “Can you see her?”

“You know, funnily enough, it’s hard to see anything when you’re essentially lying on your back on a table.”

“What do you want me to do, dangle you from the ceiling?”

“I don’t like the way you said that.”

“Jinu!”

“Okay, fine,” he sighs. “I can sense the souls, too. Not as strongly as you can, but maybe it’s an undead thing.”

“Mira isn’t undead. Zombies are undead. I don’t know what you are.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I don’t have time for this.” She opens up her desk drawer and tosses him in.

And she doesn’t. It’s five to seven, which means Celine will probably be calling soon. She’s allergic to starting her day any later than eight a.m. Rumi navigates to their thread to see if Celine has responded to her text; her heart warms at the little thumbs-up emoji Celine has used to react to her text. There is no smiley face accompanying it, but Rumi is pretty sure Celine was smiling in spirit.

Rumi can’t hear Zoey making any noise from the living room, so she takes a quick moment to do some research. A search for Mira’s name surprisingly yields results, though Rumi can’t find any death notice or obituary. It seems she had an accident two years ago and has been in a coma ever since; her family, wealthy on a level Rumi can hardly comprehend, has been taking care of her in Pyeongchang-dong. They’ve even set up a foundation in her name to fund her medical expenses. Rumi scoffs—as if they need the extra money.

Unfortunately, she’s less successful finding anything about Zoey, and she’ll never admit (unless coerced) to plugging “zoey skateboarder coma” into the search engine.

Rumi jots down the most pertinent information, scrunching her brows as she lets everything she’s learned clink together in her mind. She’s come across lots of interesting souls in the few years since she inherited these duties, but they’ve always just been lost, never trapped.

“Jinu? Have you ever come across something like this?”

“Can’t hear you!” he yells from the drawer.

Rumi rolls her eyes. She directs her most withering glare downward as she pulls it open, though she’s never known if he’s actually intimidated by it, on account of him not having a face.

“I’ll keep you in here all day,” she threatens.

“You’d miss me too much.” Rumi waits. “Fine,” he sighs, “I have heard of it happening one time, I guess.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, about four hundred years ago some idiot got cursed into a pen.”

Rumi jiggles the drawer violently, ignoring his laughter. “Not the same and you know it.”

She closes the drawer and leaves her room, making sure she’s presentable.

Zoey is peering at Rumi’s belongings like she’s in a museum, which is honestly a little unsettling.

“Hey, Zoey? I’m gonna pop out for a quick minute but I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Zoey replies absently, leaning closer to a picture on Rumi’s mantle. “Is this you and your aunt?”

Rumi steps closer to look herself, though she knows perfectly well which picture Zoey is looking at. She and Celine are standing together in front of her parents’ gravestones—Rumi, in her stiff, traditional Shepherd’s robes, and Celine in unwrinkled clothes that somehow fill in the overlap between office-wear and ‘outfits to celebrate my adopted daughter’s spiritual enlightenment.’

The photo was taken the day Rumi passed her final round of tests, and though it was just a few years ago, only two things about it stick in Rumi’s memory: the horrible, soul-wracking pain of trying to achieve something, and Celine’s relief and pride when she finally did. Rumi isn’t sure who took the picture, probably Bobby, but she remembers the sensation of the moment it captured. She remembers Celine’s fingers on her cheeks, gentle and encompassing; the way her breath came in shaky puffs as she kissed Rumi’s forehead. Rumi can recreate the watery tint to Celine’s eyes, something even the camera couldn’t capture. This picture is one of the few memories of her training that Rumi genuinely cherishes.

“Yes,” Rumi finally answers. “That’s Celine.”

She slips away before Zoey can ask any follow-up questions. Rumi zips down the stairs and briskly walks outside to find Mira trying (and failing) to lean against a lamppost outside Rumi’s building.

“I have a couch in my apartment you could probably lay down on,” she offers gently.

Mira grunts and briefly jumps at the sound of Rumi’s voice. “Do you know how much it sucks not to be able to touch something?”

“No.”

“I stood in front of, like, twelve cars and none of them hit me. Not even so much as a graze.”

“Something we’d be celebrating if you were in your physical body, I’m sure.”

Mira turns around, though her arms remain crossed. “You can fix this?”

“I can try.” Mira quirks an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I can fix this,” Rumi amends. “Maybe not immediately, but—yes. I’m going to fix this.”

“Okay. You know you’re kinda weird, right?”

Rumi nods absently. She turns to walk back inside her building; it only takes a quick moment for Mira to follow. Rumi tries not to show how pleased she is.

“How did you find me?” she asks as they walk up the stairs.

“I dunno,” Mira answers unhelpfully. “When I stopped trying to get hit by a truck, I went back to the park and sat on that bench. After a while I realized there’s this…it feels like a warm spot inside me, I guess. It got warmer or colder depending on where I walked and it kind of led me me here.”

“Is it still warm?”

Mira finally smiles as Rumi opens her front door. “Blazing.”

Rumi lets Mira walk in first, in an effort to give her blush time to fade. She pulls out the scrap of paper with the notes she wrote about Mira. “I learned some things about you,” she offers, hoping Mira will find that a more interesting avenue of conversation.

“Already?”

“Yeah, here.” She holds out the paper, angling it so Mira can see, and she would have happily run through everything in great detail, except—

The ringtone she set for Celine tinkles gently from her bedroom.

Rumi groans. “Give me a minute.” She lets the paper flutter to the floor, making sure it lands face-up so Mira can read while she’s gone.

“Celine?” she says, a little flustered as she hurries to catch the phone and unplug it before it goes to voicemail.

“Good morning, Rumi,” Celine replies, placid as ever. “Did I disturb your run?”

“No, um, I was just in the middle of a conversation and my phone was charging, and—”

“I see.” Rumi rolls her eyes because Celine doesn’t, but she waits anyway. “You said you needed some help?”

“Well, I just wondered if you had ever heard of more than one soul appearing at a time,” Rumi starts, closing her bedroom door as quietly as she can.

“Rumi…”

“I know,” Rumi sighs, “but it’s not like when I asked the first time. I’m not worried about what if I come across more than one soul. I’m asking if you’ve ever heard of it happening because I have two souls in my apartment right now.”

“Your apartment?”

Rumi begins to pace around her room, following the line of her walls. “Zoey is snooping and Mira took some time to convince but I think she’s finally on board—”

“You heard the call of two souls and they’re still in this realm? In your apartment?”

“Well…”

“How long have they been there? Is something wrong with your bond?”

“No, I feel fine, my bond is still strong.”

“Mira and Zoey, you said?”

“Celine.” Rumi waits for the rustling on the other end of the line to stop. “I’m okay, too, by the way.”

“Rumi-ya,” Celine murmurs. “I worry about you.”

“I know.” There’s a thump at Rumi’s door. Rumi waits, but nothing more seems to follow. “I appreciate it most days. You don’t need to be worried right now.”

“Yes, I do,” Celine counters. “I’m calling Bobby.”

Rumi frowns, truly stumped. “Your PR Director?”

“Actually, VP of Public Relations and Outreach now; he’s been promoted.”

“Oh, good for him.” Rumi makes a note to send him some gift vouchers for a massage. “That doesn’t explain why you’re calling him though?”

“Will you be free in…approximately two and a half hours?”

“Yeah, I don’t have any classes today.”

“Wonderful. I’ll call you then; please try to stay put until I do.”

“What?”

“That goes for all three of you, actually.”

“What?”

“I love you, Rumi.”

Celine lingers just long enough for Rumi to return the sentiment, then she hangs up.

/

“We weren’t eavesdropping!” Zoey yells when Rumi emerges from her room. But the door would have hit Zoey’s cheek if she were in her body, so Rumi thinks maybe they were.

“I wasn’t,” Mira clarifies.

Rumi shrugs. “It’s okay; you wouldn’t have heard anything anyway.”

Mira quirks an eyebrow. “Do you think you’re Batman or something?”

A little, Rumi thinks.

“No,” Rumi says. She looks past Mira and smiles as warmly as she can. “Hi again, Zoey.”

“Hi!” Zoey chirps. “How long do ghosts usually stay like this?”

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t think you’re really a ghost.”

“I was reading some stuff before you started spying,” Mira offers.

Rumi’s eyes widen in excitement. She’d been so confused by Celine— “Did that jog your memory at all?” she exclaims, trying not to sound too eager.

It’s Mira’s turn to shrug. “I remember I hate my parents.”

“That’s it?”

“Better than me,” Zoey frowns.

It happens in the split second that Mira’s fingers reach out to brush Zoey’s—their souls make contact with each other and Rumi hears a sharp, discordant wailing. The noise fills her ears and blocks everything out, and a horrible, gaping grin of flames blinks into existence exactly where Mira and Zoey touch. Rumi watches, horrified, as the fire cascades across every inch of their forms and out to to her, pulling Zoey’s arm toward her, the tips of her fingers a burnt purple to match Rumi’s, and the wailing has become laughter as they touch, and Rumi’s heart turns to ash and lightning races up the patterns on her back and Rumi can feel nothing except burning—

“Rumi!”

“What?”

She’s on the floor with an enormous weight on her chest. Rumi cranes her neck forward to find an absolute beast sitting just below her collarbone, his beautiful blue eyes empty of everything except love. The vet told her it was probably an accident in his youth that gave him an underbite, and ever since then Rumi has spoiled him as if he were an actual child.

“Cat…” she groans, trying to shove him off of her, but he will not be moved.

“Your cat just fucking knocked you to the ground!” Mira yells.

“He does that sometimes,” Rumi grunts, scratching his back. Cat preens. “He doesn’t know his own strength.”

“He looks like an idiot.”

“Mira!”

“No, that’s fair.” Rumi lets out an inelegant huff as he finally hops off. “It took me a really long time to get him to understand that this was home. Honestly, sometimes I think he only got as far as knowing that this is where the food and the chin scratches live.”

“Did you drag him out of a dumpster or something—oh.” Mira stops talking as Cat swirls around her legs, and by the look of shock on her face, Rumi thinks Mira can actually feel it.

She picks him up and stops herself just short of burying her face entirely in his grey fur.

“Excuse me,” she mumbles, and carries Cat back to the couch. Rumi and Zoey gawk as she cuddles with him, only averting their gaze when Mira catches them.

Rumi intends to question Zoey a little, with Mira otherwise occupied, but Zoey’s eyes are too big and sad to resist.

“Go,” she murmurs, and fails to suppress a smile.

Zoey sprints over to the couch to pet Cat. The image of the three of them gets blurry, and it takes a few moments for Rumi to realize it’s not because her eyes are watering. She blinks a few times—nothing works and she blinks a little faster, rubs her eyes again until—

Rumi blinks and all of them are gone, leaving only three piles of charcoal on her cushions.

“No,” she breathes.

Hello, little Shepherd, a deep, foul voice rumbles. Rumi feels her patterns start to burn—like they’re being lit up, yes, but also like the warmth that crowds when someone is too close to you—

Rumi whirls around to find only empty air.

Cat chirps from the couch, eliciting a peal of laughter from Zoey and a sensible chuckle from Mira.

Rumi shakes her head and studiously ignores the heat on her neck.

/

Bird joins them sometime later, though he won’t let himself be pampered as much as Cat, who still hasn’t moved from Mira’s lap. Every so often, Zoey flits her eyes toward Mira as if trying to gauge the best time to steal Cat, but given the absent way Mira is petting him, Rumi doesn’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon. With Cat out of reach and Bird sporadically flitting around the apartment, Zoey remains distracted as Rumi tries to extract any information or memories from her.

“Why bother?” she grumbles, laying face-down on the floor as yet another avenue of inquiry proves fruitless. “I’m just a loser of a ghost that no one misses. Even your cat likes Mira better than me.”

“That’s not true,” Rumi reassures. And in a rare moment of perfect timing, Cat jumps down from Mira’s lap and taps his head against Zoey’s.

“Traitor,” Mira protests. But Rumi catches her smiling at the way Zoey rolls over to play with Cat.

“We just need to find the right place to start with you,” Rumi continues. “Look at Mira—once we found out about her rich supervillain family, it all started to click.”

“Wish it hadn’t,” Mira gripes as she gently drags a finger down Bird’s head.

“I know I keep asking the same questions, but maybe I’m not asking them the right way.” Rumi takes a deep breath and sinks into teacher-mode. “A lot of my training revolved around myths and rituals—the significance we give to items we use every day, or ones we’ve been gifted from loved ones that hold great sentimental value. I’ve been asking you to give me factual answers, and that’s not where we need to focus. What use are facts to a spirit? I apologize for not realizing that sooner.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Rumi,” Zoey smiles.

“I should have relied on my training more, instead of simply reacting to the situation at hand. Just because your predicament is unusual doesn’t mean it’s unsolvable.”

“Okay. Should I apologize for being a ghost?”

Rumi furrows her brows. “You’re not a—no,” she acquiesces, when she sees Zoey about to interrupt. “No, that’s silly; why would you?”

“Exactly. Now come on, work your feelings voodoo on me.”

For a moment Rumi considers asking Zoey to explain that, but that might throw them off course irreparably, and Rumi wants to have something she can share with Celine when she calls back.

She sits on the floor across from Zoey and motions for her to mimic Rumi’s position. If they could touch, their knees would be brushing. Rumi takes a deep breath and tries to lean into the feeling anyway.

“Close your eyes,” she says slowly, dropping her voice to a low murmur. “Imagine what it means to feel safe, to feel comforted and loved. You are at home and your favorite dishes are being cooked—what do they smell like? You are at home and you’re surrounded by family—are they laughing? Is someone singing? You are at home; maybe it’s raining outside, and you’re about to fall asleep underneath your favorite blanket. Imagine all of these things, let them sit with you, and when you’re ready, describe your home to me.”

Rumi watches as Zoey listens with her whole body. She squeezes her eyes tight, clenches her fingers into her ghostly pants. Zoey seeks out every sense Rumi mentions with a gesture—she tips her face upward, as if searching for a smell; she tilts her ear toward the window, as if trying to hear a melody.

But time passes and Rumi sees no moment of epiphany dawn on Zoey’s features.

“It’s useless,” Zoey whines, slumping. “I really, really tried, Rumi.”

“I know.”

“I can’t hear anything; I don’t feel anything; and the only thing I can smell is, like, really crisp air.”

“Ocean-crisp?” Rumi prompts.

Zoey shakes her head. “Just…good, fresh air. And maybe also some fruit?”

“What kind, oranges? Melons?”

Zoey inhales deeply and noisily. “I don’t know, just fruit. Pears, maybe, or apples. It smells like fall.”

“Oh yeah,” Mira interjects, “you used to go hiking with your dad near Daegu, I think.”

“Mira!” Zoey yells so loudly and turns around so abruptly that Bird flies off, squawking indignantly. “How do you know that! I wish I could shake you!”

“You told me that when we first met; get off me—”

“What do you mean when we first met! You can’t even feel me, oh my god. Oh my god, Rumi, my dad is back in California and I never came home; I was supposed to come home, what if he doesn’t know anything about what happened to me?”

“I’m sure he knows something, hold on—”

“It was only supposed to be a summer visit like it always is but I was thinking of moving here and I know that made him sad, but my mom was here by herself taking care of her sister—Rumi!” Zoey gasps. “Rumi, my aunt was sick while I was visiting; she’s all the family my mom has left except me; what if she died, or what if my mom has to take care of both of us now, or what if the reason I’m lost is because all of my family is homeless and I’m by myself in some hospital that no one knows about—”

“Hey!” Mira actually shouts and shoves Cat at Zoey’s chest. “Chill out. Pet this idiot. Take a moment to breathe.”

“Sure, yeah,” Zoey sniffles, “I can do that. He’s not an idiot.”

“He is,” Mira reassures, “and that’s okay.”

Cat squirms, half in Mira’s hands and half in Zoey’s, and Rumi watches the tender moment unfold. She doesn’t think Mira notices but Rumi can see it happen—the way Mira’s hand trails soothingly down Zoey’s shoulder, the way that Zoey leans into the contact. They stay that way until Mira lets go of Cat and suddenly her hand passes through Zoey’s arm. The tension fizzles and Rumi feels at peace, lets that waft in silence over all three of them.

(But also: jealousy rises and makes a home in Rumi’s throat.)

“You two sit and talk,” Rumi instructs softly, “I’m gonna call my—I’m gonna make a call.”

/

Rumi isn’t surprised when her first call to Celine goes to voicemail. Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised when the second and third ones meet a similar end, but by five unanswered calls Rumi is getting frustrated. Celine may be aloof, but she is rarely unreachable, and never to Rumi.

Rumi turns to her last resort—a text consisting only of the moon emoji, a system they’d set up when Rumi was young, before she’d even started training to be a Shepherd. The moon was an SOS, a signal that Rumi was in some kind of danger and needed immediate assistance. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d used it in her life.

Her phone rings within ten seconds. “I can be there in two hours,” Celine says, not bothering with pleasantries or even the notion of letting Rumi speak first.

“No, you don’t have to; I just needed to speak with you.”

“Are you sure? What happened? Where are you?”

“We haven’t left the apartment,” Rumi says, slowing her voice to its calmest state. “Nothing’s happened. Well, I mean, nothing threatening, I guess—”

“Rumi, you know—”

“Eomma. Zoey is on the verge of a panic attack and I don’t know how to help her, but I have a feeling you might.”

There is an extended silence, over which Rumi thinks she can hear Celine swallow. “Yes,” she finally says, “I suppose I can. It will require a bit of an explanation.”

“Honestly, I can’t wait.”

“I’m at Zoey’s house right now—”

“What?!”

“Rumi, please—”

“Hold on, let me get back to Mira and Zoey. Can I put you on speaker?”

Another long pause, and then: “Yes.”

“I’m sorry I used the moon.”

“I understand, Rumi,” and Rumi can’t reach through a phone to hug Celine but the warmth of her voice is the next best thing.

She walks back into the common area where Mira and Zoey are; Zoey has calmed down and is in a pile with Mira on the couch, Cat’s long body extended over both of them. They both start speaking as soon as they spot her, but Rumi holds up a finger and places her phone on the arm of the couch.

“You’re on speaker,” she says to Celine, turning her volume up a little. “Mira, Zoey, this is my mother, Celine. She has some information that might help our situation.”

Mira and Zoey both offer uncertain hellos, though Celine doesn’t respond.

“They said hi,” Rumi translates.

“Well, that’s new. Hello,” Celine amends. “I’m sorry we can’t speak directly, though I suppose that’s not a surprise. Zoey, I’m at your mother’s house right now. I’ve stepped away to take this call, but if you were worried about her, you don’t need to be.”

“She’s okay?” Zoey warbles. “Everyone’s okay?”

“Everyone’s okay,” Celine confirms. “Your father has been splitting his time between Burbank and Seoul; he should be visiting here in a few weeks. Your aunt found a wonderful team of doctors and has largely resolved her medical issues. You and your mother have a support system, Zoey. There is no need for alarm.”

“I don’t understand,” Zoey says, but Rumi is starting to.

“Celine,” she interjects, “where’s Bobby?”

“Monitoring the Kang estate,” Celine answers carefully.

“Who the fuck is Bobby?” Mira blurts. Rumi doesn’t bother translating that one.

“Can I talk to her?”

“She can’t hear you, Zoey,” Rumi answers softly.

“Please.”

“Hold on.” There is a rustling from Celine’s side of the phone. “I’m going to make some tea,” she says, her voice a little far away. “Which one is your favorite?”

“The tin on the counter,” a woman answers. She sounds tired but kind; if Rumi closes her eyes, she can almost imagine that voice coming from Zoey’s lips. “If there isn’t enough, I can—”

“Please, sit,” Celine insists. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you,” Rumi murmurs, as she hears the sounds of Celine walking.

Zoey is curled into Mira’s side but otherwise motionless. There isn’t enough definition in her form to determine if she’s crying, but Rumi would be surprised if she wasn’t.

“Mira and Zoey were found together in Seoul two and a half years ago,” Celine explains, “collapsed at the same table in a cafe. Though there was nothing physically wrong with them, doctors were unable to wake them up, and so they were returned to the care of their families after a few weeks. Mira’s family is obviously capable of caring for her; I stepped in to assist Zoey’s parents with medical bills and occasional support.”

Rumi frowns. “I didn’t see anything about this when I searched for news about them.”

“The Kang family is very…protective of their reputation. They have enough money and power to carefully prune any story to a version that they prefer.”

“But how did you even find them?”

“I had been keeping an eye out for signs,” Celine sighs. “I was focused on something else at the time, but once I was able to intervene, I did.”

“Focused on—Celine.” Rumi swallows and clenches her fist, drawing up every bit of her resolve. “What are you not telling me?”

“Please take me off speakerphone.”

“No.”

Rumi’s heart hammers incessantly in her chest. She and Celine have disagreed, of course—the months after her parents’ deaths were hard, and adolescence is never a cake-walk even for the perfect family. But they’re a unit and they’ve grown together; they’ve worked at growing together. They’re the most important people in each other’s lives; Rumi has never even considered the possibility that Celine could lie to her about anything, let alone something so important.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Rumi continues, trying to keep the wobble out of her voice.

“This is a conversation we should have in person, Rumi.”

“Come over after you’re done at Zoey’s and we will, even if it’s late. But there must be something you can tell me to help both of them now.”

Celine is quiet for so long that Rumi checks her screen to make sure she hasn’t hung up. She swallows a sip of tea and sighs.

“Your path to becoming a Shepherd was difficult and painful,” Celine begins.

Rumi almost rolls her eyes but she recognizes Celine’s way of explaining things, of needing to justify any bad news before she actually breaks it.

“Yes,” Rumi agrees, “you said it was because you weren’t supposed to be the one teaching me.”

“And that’s true, but—” Celine sighs again and Rumi can almost see her, cascade of hair framing her face as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Every Shepherd before you, including your mother, has had Anchors to support them. They’re always important people in a Shepherd’s life, and often they’re known before the Shepherd matures. But occasionally they must be sought out and taught of the bond and their duties alongside the Shepherd.”

“Why don’t I have any?”

“You do,” Celine explains gently. “Mira and Zoey are your Anchors. Their accident occurred on the day you passed your last test.”

Rumi looks to Mira and Zoey, whose expressions can only be described as ‘dumb shock’. “They’re like this because of me?”

“No, Rumi—”

“If I hadn’t grown into my powers, they would be awake right now.”

“We don’t know that. We have a limited understanding of the powers at work here. There is only so much within our control.”

“But I don’t—why would you keep them from me?”

“Your father and I were Mi-yeong’s Anchors, Rumi. I was connected to them when they died. I never—you cannot imagine the pain of losing them. No one should ever have to experience it.”

“I had nightmares for years,” Rumi says, incredulous. “I had nightmares and it took me months to master every marking, and you always looked so hesitant to say I could move onto the next one. I almost died completing my final tests.”

“Yes,” Celine replies, so softly that Rumi almost doesn’t hear her.

“Was that not suffering enough?”

“Rumi.” Celine sniffles. Rumi tries to recall the last time Celine cried. “I will tell you anything you want to know when I return.”

Rumi nods absently. “Okay.”

“I love you.”

Rumi lays her phone on the floor and waits for Celine to disconnect the call.

/

It should probably feel worse, Rumi thinks, finding out that her life as she’s known it has been a lie. She should feel furious, or devastated, or anything other than just…numb. Of course she’s always known about the accident that killed her parents. Celine was never shy in sharing that with her. But to be misled about the circumstances, to grow up thinking it was an undetected gas leak instead of a painful, preventable death…

Rumi has trusted Celine her entire life. She was raised to believe they were a team. Now, Rumi wonders if maybe they were just two people living alone together.

“Rumi…?”

Rumi hears Zoey speak but she doesn’t respond, doesn’t even react, really. She will eventually, but it’s hard to find urgency at the moment.

(“Should we do something?”

“Pretty sure we’re still ghosts.”

“We’re not ghosts, Mira; weren’t you listening?”

“Not really people either, though, are we?”)

“I need a hug,” Rumi eventually says. Someone drops Cat in her lap. “From a person,” she amends, but she pets him anyway.

“Don’t you have friends?”

“Oh my god, Mira, you can’t just ask people if they have friends.”

“Why not; most people do.”

Rumi laughs in spite of herself. “Most people in my life are spirits. Or Celine. Or—never mind,” she trails off. Mentioning the possibility of being trapped in inanimate objects might scare them off. Then again, if this news hasn’t—

“I’ll hug you,” Zoey offers with a smile. “When we’re fixed; I’ll hug you.”

“It’s okay, Zoey, you don’t have to—”

“But I do,” Zoey insists. “I mean, I’m not saying that just to say it—well, I guess I am right now because I can’t do anything about it, but—however many hugs you need, I’m good for ‘em. Any time.”

Rumi finally looks up for more than a moment. Zoey looks a little tired, her eyebrows quirking hesitantly. Mira is stoic beside her, but if she had a body it would be touching Rumi’s right now, her long legs extended as she sits across from Rumi on the floor. Rumi can’t even remember when she stopped standing up.

“Sorry you got dragged into this,” she murmurs.

Zoey shrugs. “Technically we haven’t gotten dragged into anything yet.”

“Yeah, if I had any better place to be, I’d go there,” Mira drawls. But she winks, too, when Rumi glances her way.

“Honestly, it kind of explains a lot,” Zoey continues. “I kind of always felt like I was waiting for something. Like, one day I’d find The Thing that would just…make everything make sense. I thought it’d happen way before now, but here I am. Here we are, you know?”

Rumi watches Zoey, watches the way her fingers play with the hem of her shirt as she talks; the way her feet click together in a gentle but constant rhythm. She wonders what it would be like to take up space with Zoey, to laugh with her or hold her hand, to share a small part of the world.

She says none of this.

“You’re from Daegu?” she asks instead.

Zoey nods. “Somewhere near there; it’s still kind of fuzzy. My parents divorced when I was ten and I moved to America with my dad. But I spent summers here and I’ve always wanted to come back to stay. Now I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“Zoey, you always—”

“It was a joke, Rumi,” Zoey grins. “I’m gonna stick around just so I can teach you how to lighten up.”

“I know how to joke,” Rumi grumbles. “What about you?” she asks, turning to Mira. “Any revelations on your end?”

Mira shrugs. “I never belonged with my family,” she replies. “I don’t feel compelled to bond my soul to yours, or whatever—”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“—but it’s like Zoey said. Here we are.”

“You’re both being surprisingly laid-back about this.”

“Oh, trust me.” Mira clenches a fist. “If I could punch something about this, I would. But I can’t.”

Something about that calms Rumi down. She abandons any previous plans for the day and focuses instead on self-indulgence and comfort—Zoey and Mira follow her around as she cooks her favorite foods; they repeatedly talk her out of calling Celine back to apologize. In the afternoon, when it gets cloudy and drowsy, they all pile onto the couch to watch whatever junk Rumi can find on TV.

When it starts to rain, and Mira and Zoey have quieted down, Rumi opens up her text thread with Celine. She hovers over the icon to call, but takes a deep breath and remembers the very good advice she’d been given just hours earlier.

We stayed in today; you don’t need to come over. I’ll call you later.

Rumi turns her phone off as soon as she sees that the text has sent.

Thunder booms and rattles the windows. Zoey and Mira, unperturbed by the noises of the physical world, don’t stir, but Rumi feels it vibrate across the room until her skin is buzzing with the force of it.

You want answers, the deep voice growls again. I can give you everything you need. You don’t even need to seek me out—close your eyes and let me show you.

There is nothing on the screen in front of her.

Rumi watches the flames until she falls asleep.

/

Zoey is very good at skateboarding. She’s been skating since she was little, she basically runs the park near her dad’s house, and she can maneuver through a tightly-packed sidewalk with the finesse of a surgeon.

Except Seoul isn’t like Burbank, where people will help a little by moving out of the way. And it’s not like Zoey can really stop herself when the most beautiful woman in the world, who seems very busy staring at her phone, looks up to see Zoey barrelling straight toward her.

It’s a miracle that she can swerve quick enough to avoid a collision, though it does unfortunately also put her in the path of a row of planters.

“Uh oh,” she says, right before she folds herself over the top of one of them.

A face full of dirt feels like an appropriate punishment for getting distracted. Zoey just kind of hangs out for a minute, to really let her moment of stupidity sink in.

“Are you okay?”

A hand rests on her back; Zoey turns to see the woman studying her, face too close and full of concern.

“Yep!” She turns and wipes most of the soil from her cheeks. “All good, sorry about that.”

“You sure?”

Zoey grins, flashing the perfect mix of tooth and charm. “Yeah, totally. Thanks for checking.”

“Good.” Judgment floods the woman’s eyes and she gives Zoey a final once-over before walking away. “Watch where you’re fucking going next time.”

Zoey watches the woman instead, the way her pink hair swirls effortlessly in the wind without getting tangled; how her white tanktop accentuates the width of her shoulders; the solid, confident axis of her spine.

“That top looks really good on you!” Zoey calls out.

The woman simply keeps walking.

Zoey sighs and retrieves her board.

.

The day passes like summer days do—everything that happens, which is actually nothing after her almost-incident, is both the least and most important thing that’s ever happened. Zoey enjoys a snack at her favorite park, manages to squeeze her way into a new pop-up restaurant for lunch, and wanders around the city until it’s time to meet up with Mystery and whatever other friends he’s collected for the next few weeks.

Sometimes Zoey leans into the loneliness, wonders what her life would be like if she wasn’t constantly traveling between two homes; if she had friends she saw every day any day of the year, instead of occasionally for a few weeks at a time. Sometimes she thinks about what if she wasn’t constantly fitting herself into her parents’ schedules—what if she settled down somewhere in the middle, like France or something, and made them come to her instead? But those are thoughts for three a.m., when it’s that magic hour where you’re scared of everything but the world feels limitless. Ten a.m. Zoey wakes up and fears the possibility that no one would visit her if she gave them the option, and so she stays.

Mystery is always good about distracting her anyway, and so Zoey finds herself at her second club of the night, sweaty and waiting for a drink during a momentary breather.

“You clean up nice,” a voice drawls next to her.

Zoey turns and immediately perks up—it’s her, the beautiful pink-haired woman, and she’s smirking instead of scowling this time and still so unbelievably hot, with her elbows on the bar and her long, lean body on full display.

“It’s you,” Zoey blurts. It’s not what she means to say, but it comes out anyway.

“It’s me,” the woman confirms.

“What are you drinking? I owe you for earlier.”

The woman taps on the rim of a fresh martini glass.

Zoey’s face falls. “Oh. Okay. You probably don’t want to dance then.”

The woman shakes her head. The bartender deposits Zoey’s cocktail onto a napkin in front of her.

“Looks like you’re not ready to dance either,” she says, sipping from her drink. “What if I say you’ve got until we finish out drinks to convince me to join you?”

Zoey feels her mind quiet down. Flirting happens a lot like this for her—it’s so overwhelming to start, being inundated by the allure of someone new. Running into a planter because she got distracted by someone hot honestly isn’t the worst thing Zoey’s had to endure in the name of love. But nothing comforts her more than this part, right now. She’s at her best when given the chance to endear herself to someone. It’s her most practiced skill.

Zoey holds the maraschino cherry from her drink between her teeth and slides it off its toothpick. She watches the woman, so stoic in every other part of her body, track every one of Zoey’s movements with her eyes.

“It won’t take that long,” Zoey promises.

“No?” She does well to hold her composure, but Zoey notices a faint blush start to dot the woman’s cheeks.

Zoey bites the cherry and winks.

.

She spends more time with Mira than Mystery in the next few days. Mira, who doesn’t rush Zoey when she’s telling a story; Mira, who has the prettiest name Zoey’s ever heard; Mira, who is intimidating in a way that excites Zoey, even when she learns who Mira’s family are and how she might come by that demeanor honestly.

Mira is busier than Zoey is, which makes sense since Zoey is technically on vacation, but she makes time to meet for tea at Zoey’s favorite boba place. Zoey dresses up a little more than normal and actually leaves her skateboard at home. The familiarity of the tea shop is the only thing calming her nerves as she opens the door.

Mira is already waiting for her, sitting up straight and scrolling her phone at a table with two large drinks.

“Presumptuous,” Zoey says as she slides into the chair across from her.

Mira instantly puts her phone away. “You said everything here was amazing. I figured I’d take a chance.”

“And I still totally stand by that.”

“So?”

Zoey unwraps her straw and takes a sip. It isn’t a flavor she’d normally get, and Zoey can’t parse exactly what it is. But it’s cold, and very sweet, and it settles into her stomach more pleasantly with each sip.

She swallows and grins. “Amazing,” she declares.

Mira’s grin is wide to match Zoey’s. It’s like Zoey’s seeing her for the first time all over again, the way it changes her face. If Zoey had never known joy in her life, she would be able to define it just by looking at Mira.

She waits for Mira to try her drink before taking another sip of her own.

This is the best day of Zoey’s life.

/

“It’s a good thing my body doesn’t really work right now or I’d be sneezing like crazy.”

Rumi, who hadn’t thought about how much dust these books are generating until Zoey said that, twitches her nose.

They’re at Rumi’s favorite table in a quiet corner of the library. It used to just be a space where she could talk to her semi-sentient pen friend. Today, she’s added two spirits who she thinks may be trapped in some kind of incidental astral projection. On any other day, that would set her mind buzzing, and nothing would be able to pull her away from solving the puzzle.

“At least you at least have a body.”

“Zoey, can you believe this guy is dead and stuck inside a pen? What a loser.”

Today is not any other day.

Rumi puts her head down on the table and covers it with the book.

It’s been a weird few days. Zoey and Mira are still here, and they seem to have no issue traveling with her. They’re getting better at sustaining physical contact with each other, sometimes even without Cat or Bird’s help, but they still can’t touch Rumi. Celine left a box of books in front of Rumi’s door with a note that she’d had to go on an unexpected work trip. As recently as a week ago, Rumi would have followed up, might have pressed her to stay. Now, she’s maintained radio silence except to send a short text of thanks for the books.

She’s getting close to the end of the stack without much to show for it—Rumi has learned a lot about the early generations of Shepherds. She’s read their diaries and observations; she’s learned about different styles of guiding and what kind of person seems to be best suited for the job. What she hasn’t found is any record of Shepherds and Anchors bonding after the Shepherd has passed their tests.

It’s a question Rumi should be able to answer, given that, as far as she can tell, she is the first documented child of a Shepherd and an Anchor. There is something within her that suits both roles, and Rumi knows that if she just digs deep enough, she will solve the riddle. But every word on every page makes her think of Celine, makes her wonder what she did wrong to be someone Celine lied to, someone she found so untrustworthy. It can’t only be a fault of Celine covering everything up or Rumi wouldn’t feel this way; she wouldn’t feel the shame of being deceived and insufficient—

“Rumi!”

“What?” She jerks her head up and winces as the very old and delicate book thuds to the ground.

Mira flits her eyes to the table, where Rumi’s nails—suddenly sharper than usual—are starting to gouge into the wood.

“You’re gonna break it if you’re not careful. Are you freaking out?”

Rumi sighs and sits up straighter. She winces as she pulls her hands free. “I’m fine. I mean, I’m stressed and I’m no closer to fixing you than I was three days ago, but it’s fine.”

“Well, we’re all kinda fucked if you kill yourself over this so, you know. Don’t,” Mira drawls.

Rumi smiles, though her stomach twists and compacts itself into a ball.

“Need a distraction?”

Rumi smirks. “More than what you’ve been doing?”

“It’s not like I can turn a page,” Mira says.

“True. Okay, wow me,” Rumi replies, settling back into her chair.

Mira crouches next to the table and eyes Jinu’s pen. She adjusts her angle, as if she’s setting up for a difficult golf putt, and then reaches out and flicks hard. Jinu goes flying to the edge of the table, though he doesn’t fly off completely. Rumi can hear him complaining as he teeters.

Mira frowns, takes a deep breath, and gives the table one good thump. Rumi is surprised when she actually connects and doesn’t even try to save Jinu from falling.

“Sick, right?” Mira smiles and looks like she actually means it.

“It is pretty impressive,” Rumi admits. “How did you manage to touch the table?”

Mira shrugs. “The air has to buzz before I can touch the pen. I could still feel it.”

“Huh.” In spite of herself, Rumi is fascinated by the mechanics of a prolonged spiritual existence. If she weren’t so focused on solving Zoey and Mira’s current predicament, she’d probably concoct a few smaller experiments to find the limits of what they can currently physically experience. They’re able to interact with Cat and Bird and Jinu; maybe that would extend to the items Rumi uses in her duties as the Shepherd, given their ritualistic significance—

“Mira! Catch!”

Rumi looks up to see Zoey throw Jinu across the table to Mira, who steps to the side and lets him fall.

Rumi sighs and starts gathering her books.

.

And so the days pass like this into weeks. Rumi doesn’t feel the call of another soul, though she worries with each successive day that they’re still waiting, stuck somewhere in limbo. She knows she should be focusing on the big picture of everything, but it’s so tempting to simply be around Zoey and Mira, who have both settled so easily into the atmosphere of her life that Rumi doesn’t want to let them go. Maybe it’s something that will continue when they’re in their own bodies again, but Rumi doesn’t know that. She can’t know that. And so she reads slower than she normally would. She laughs loud when Mira gets caught playing with Cat. She doesn’t shy away from Zoey’s prying questions, especially when they’re coming from her charming mouth.

Rumi especially doesn’t think about the occasional texts Celine sends her, reminding her that she’s ready to meet whenever Rumi is ready. Rumi has been ready for a while now, but she doesn’t want to be.

The terrifying truth is that Rumi hasn’t found anything useful in her research. She knows how the binding ritual is supposed to be performed between Shepherds and Anchors. In normal circumstances, the chosen trio would magically tie all of their souls into a specific object. During this process, the object is expected to splinter into three pieces that each member can wear and carry parts of the other two souls with them for the rest of their lives. But everything Rumi has read also explicitly states that there is a point of no return for this ritual—eventually, each individual soul becomes too strong to be contained by any one object. There are no definite parameters for when this tipping point occurs, but Rumi is certain the three of them have passed it by now.

The knowledge that she, Mira, and Zoey are meant to be tied together, but are denied the only method of binding available to them, keeps her up later each night.

Even Jinu has quieted down, after setting her off one too many times when Mira and Zoey can’t hear. More and more she finds herself where she is right now: jotting down vague, unconnected thoughts with a regular pen in the hopes that a solution will magically manifest.

She lets the nib of her pen press too long against her paper and the ink bleeds through, spreading lazily into an inconvenient blotch. Rumi doesn’t bother cleaning it up, just lays her pen down on her desk and stares. It would be easy to clean, she knows—with a wet cloth and some soap, maybe some wood wax if it persists. But that wouldn’t guarantee protection against future stains, and honestly what’s the point of cleaning if she can’t prevent more mess forever?

Rumi lays her head down and lets her eyes go out of focus until it looks like the stain is moving. It turns indigo in the dark of her room, sometimes a flash of purple when the moonlight hits it just right. She watches it until the blob starts to take a recognizable shape; it looks like Bird if he were wearing a tiny, wide-brimmed hat. Rumi smiles and watches him hop across the grain of the wood, as if the whorls of color were puddles.

“It’s getting late, jagiya,” Mira murmurs from behind her. “Zoey won’t fall asleep until you join us.”

“Do you see this?” Rumi mumbles. “Doesn’t it look like Bird? How is he doing that.”

Mira squeezes Rumi’s shoulders. Her long nails migrate up the back of Rumi’s head, scratching pleasantly in places that never feel the same when Rumi touches them. “I think you’re letting time get the best of you, Rumi,” Mira says, her breath warm and close to Rumi’s ear. “Come relax with us.”

Rumi closes her eyes and basks in the comfort of Mira’s presence. She’s thin but her arms are always long enough to wrap around Rumi, to cocoon her until Rumi can forget about the rest of the world.

“Okay,” Rumi breathes. She presses a kiss to Mira’s palm and stands up. “You’ve convinced me; let’s go.”

Mira is waiting for Rumi when she looks up. Her smile is wider than her face and there is fire in her eyes. “Don’t you see, little Shepherd?” Mira’s voice is a dissonant cacophony masquerading as words. “Look what I can give you.”

Rumi falls into her chair and tries to lean back as far as she can. The thing that used to be Mira follows her all the way down, the pink flame of her hair scorching to the touch. Rumi’s heart clenches in her chest and its corresponding marking burns hotter than it ever has before. She can barely think, let alone move away.

“No,” she manages to gasp. “Who are you?”

“Who I am is not as important as what I can do,” not-Mira jeers. “Aren’t you tired of being responsible for so many? You’ve spent so long trying to find a solution to your problem and what do you have to show for it, hm?” Mira reaches out to caress Rumi’s face. Her touch is gentle, heavenly, and it leaves blisters in its wake. “I can give them to you. No more pain, no more duties. Only you and them, if you would just give the rest to me.”

Every one of her instincts is screaming at her to say no, but Rumi can’t help indulging. A home with Zoey’s laughter every day, and Mira’s arms every night. The safety of being loved and known; the privilege of being able to dote on the two people who deserve her tenderness the most. Zoey, Mira, Rumi and their menagerie—of pets, of cursed pen-friends, of Celine. Rumi lets herself dream of the day when there is enough love to soothe the wounds that still linger.

Hasn’t she earned the right to weigh them against the souls of the world?

But the more Rumi leans into Mira’s touch, the more it burns. She’ll melt a hole right through her cheek if she keeps this up.

“You’re a liar,” she grits out.

Mira only smiles more. “Your time is running out, Rumi. I’m going to devour you, and I’ll warn you now: I chew slowly.”

Rumi is restrained in place by a sudden rush of fear. She can do nothing but wail as Mira leans down and swallows her whole.

.

She wakes with a start, pushing herself away from her desk in one exaggerated, jerky motion. A page sticks to her face as it’s ripped out of her journal. Rumi heaves in a few gulps of air as she wills her heart to slow to its usual rate.

“Bad dream?” Jinu asks from his drawer.

“Yeah,” Rumi rasps. “Terrible. Um, it’s fine now though. Don’t worry about me.”

“I don’t even need to see you to know that you’re lying.”

Rumi doesn’t respond to him. She taps her phone’s screen with shaky fingers—04:07, it glares—before typing in her passcode and calling Celine. She doesn’t even give herself the opportunity to overthink it, just nibbles on her thumbnail as she waits for her most reliable person to pick up.

“Rumi?” Celine’s voice is bleary and hoarse as she presumably wakes up.

“Hi,” Rumi squeaks, only just managing to suppress a whimper.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Rumi’s eyes well up with tears as the effects of the vision start to leave her. “I, um, I had a really bad dream,” she warbles. Rumi sniffles and presses the heel of one hand to her eye. “Sorry, that sounds really dumb.”

“It isn’t dumb if it’s upsetting you, Rumi.”

“Can you come here? Please?”

“Of course,” Celine soothes. “Give me half an hour.”

“Thank you.”

Rumi hangs up and flops back on her bed, spreading her arms wide toward the edges of her mattress. The sky is starting to get brighter but it still feels stiflingly dark in her room. Rumi startles at the sound of her bedroom door opening, before realizing it’s just Cat.

“Hey, buddy,” she coos as he jumps up next to her. “You’re real, right?”

He meows and bonks his head into her hand. Rumi pets him smiles at the softness of his fur. He feels solid and warm, but so had Mira. She stills her hand.

Cat puts two paws on her chest and stands with his full weight.

“Okay,” Rumi grunts, “okay, I believe in you.” Cat chirps, though he doesn’t move. “Can you make sure they don’t wake up? I have to go do something.”

Cat turns around and whips his tail in her face before leaving the way he came. Rumi quickly throws on a hoodie, makes sure she has her phone and her keys, and tiptoes out of her apartment quickly enough not to disturb Mira or Zoey.

Rumi paces along the sidewalk in front of her building, often coming to rest against the same post where she found Mira weeks ago. It shouldn’t take Celine that long to get here, but the waiting makes it seem like time is slowing down. Rumi actively suppresses the urge to check her phone. Celine will get here when she gets here.

No sooner than she thinks that does Rumi see Celine’s car pull up gracefully in front of her. Technically she’s in a no parking zone, but Celine has always ignored the rules when they’re convenient for her, and also it’s too early for anyone to care enough to ticket her.

Celine slides out of the car and gently closes the door. She crosses the sidewalk in confident, long strides and envelops Rumi in a hug without a word. Rumi closes her eyes and tucks her chin into Celine’s shoulder. She smells like clean clothes but there is no fresh scent of shampoo or the light perfume she wears. Rumi detects a hint of the wood that comprises all of Celine’s furniture. She takes a deep breath and it’s like Rumi is five years old and crawling into Celine’s bed after a nightmare. She calms down as she realizes that she’s in her twenties, and Celine has brought the bed to her.

Rumi tightens her grip around Celine’s torso and lets herself be held.

“Can you eat?” Celine murmurs. “There are things we should discuss.”

“Okay,” Rumi agrees. “There are a few carts near campus this early.”

“I remember.”

The ride over is short and smooth. Rumi finds herself almost lulled to sleep by the beams of light cast by the lamps that line the streets, but Celine has parked before she can truly drift off. She orders some coffee, to which she adds a luxurious amount of cream, and more gilgeori toast than both of them can finish in one sitting. Rumi steers them in the direction of her favorite courtyard, and there is silence while they eat. Rumi listens to the birds waking up, feels the warmth of Celine’s shoulder against hers, and the dense ball of unease in her chest begins to lighten.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Rumi?”

Rumi nods. “I feel a lot better, thank you.”

“I was very glad you called, and happier to help.”

“I know.”

Celine folds the paper her toast was wrapped in and tucks it underneath her thigh. “I may have found a solution to your predicament.”

“Really?” Rumi chews her last bite and swallows hastily, trying not to show how much it hurts going down. “We can still perform the Obligation Ceremony?”

Celine, on the verge of saying something else, closes her mouth. “How much research have you been doing?”

“Oh, a lot. Enough, at least,” Rumi answers, reaching for another sandwich. “I read through all the books you left me and then found some more weird ones in the library. I thought it would be impossible to do the ritual because Mira and Zoey aren’t in their own bodies, and besides, our souls have probably passed the tipping point for attachment, and even if those things weren’t true, I don’t think we could really persuade Mira’s parents to give us any item of hers in time—”

“In time?” Celine interrupts. “I’m unaware of any deadline.”

“Oh.” Rumi flushes and stuffs her face. “Just a feeling I had,” she says around a mouthful of eggs and vegetables. Once again, she swallows more painfully than she’d like. “What did you want to talk about?”

“You’re right,” Celine says, so smoothly that Rumi can’t tell if she’s changing the subject. “It’s too late to perform the ceremony. Even if it wasn’t, it would be impossible to find an object that means enough to all three of you that you can siphon your soul into. And even if that were possible, physical contact between the people involved and the chosen item is non-negotiable.”

“Okay.”

“There aren’t many Anchors left from previous generations—new trios aren’t often called before the previous ones pass—but I know how to get into contact with one of them.” Celine shifts awkwardly on their bench and takes a slow sip of her drink. “Her years were marked by a certain…looseness with the magical aspect of our duty. Her Shepherd was constantly testing the limits of our abilities, and unfortunately it resulted in her early death.”

“Okay,” Rumi repeats, though quieter this time.

Celine pulls a pendant from beneath her shirt. It’s the same small stone she’s worn on a gold chain since Rumi has known her, and Rumi has always found herself frustrated by it—the stone is beautiful and smooth; it has flecks of gold, swirls of grey all over its deep green face. But it’s missing a luster; every time Rumi turned it over in her small hand, she wiped away at a different spot of dirt that never seemed to budge.

“This was our pillar. Your father dug it out of the ocean on the trip when he and Mi-yeong met. You can’t imagine how it used to shine; it drew the eye of everyone who talked to any one of us.”

Celine shifts in her seat and rubs her thumb along the stone’s smooth surface.

“It used to shine; it used to make me feel warm and safe. But it’s just been a rock since Mi-yeong died. In the early days after her death, I became obsessed with restoring what it used to be. I pored over some of the same scrolls I gave you, trying to find a way to revive the connection we had. I found the answers I wanted to see in the journals of the previous Shepherd, and I was prepared to complete the ritual that night.”

Rumi turns to face Celine and rests her elbow on the back of the bench. “Why didn’t you?”

Celine’s eyes fill with tears, though they travel no further. “I read over the instructions one more time. It would have taken a great deal out of me, to bind myself to a soul that had already passed on, but I was—I thought I was prepared. And then I heard you cry. You were never a fussy child, but you always seemed to cry out when I needed you most.” Celine cups Rumi’s cheeks and swipes at the bags under her eyes. “And here I’d always thought it was supposed to be the other way around.”

Rumi, unable to conjure up any adequate words, simply grasps Celine’s wrists.

“I let your mother go that night, Rumi,” Celine says, her voice thick with tears, “and chose you instead. I made a promise that I would try my hardest to keep you away from your Anchors, to spare you the pain and loss I’ve felt every day for the last twenty years. I thought I was doing the right thing. But these last few weeks I’ve remembered nothing but the love I shared with them. The bond I shared with your parents was good; it was good, Rumi, and I can’t believe I—”

“Eomma,” Rumi whispers. She cradles Celine’s head to her shoulder, smooths a hand down her hair as she cries. “I understand,” she eventually says when Celine starts to calm down. “What can we do to make this right?”

Celine unfolds herself slowly. She clutches Rumi’s cheeks again, presses a firm kiss to her forehead. “My beautiful girl,” she murmurs. Rumi closes her eyes and remembers the photo on her mantle. “The soul-binding ritual can be redirected,” Celine answers, swiping an inelegant hand across her nose. “Not to bind you to a soul that has passed, but to bind you to souls without physical forms.”

“Then we’ll do that,” Rumi decides.

“Rumi-ya—”

“Eomma—”

“It will require great sacrifice,” Celine stresses. “From you, specifically, as the person with the largest missing piece.”

“How does it work?”

Celine sighs. “It’s a very complicated process that I would rather explain to all three of you at once. But in its simplest form, Mira and Zoey’s souls have forgotten how to exist in a body. You must help them remember how by offering yours.”

“Um.” Rumi blushes. “How?”

Celine briefly smirks. “A momentary possession.”

“Oh.”

“Before the ritual succeeds, it will temporarily weaken your bond and leave you vulnerable to the malevolent forces that wish to consume the souls we’re sworn to protect.”

Rumi thinks of endless fire and a dark, empty laugh. “I’m stronger than them,” she promises.

“If you aren’t careful, one or all of you could be lost forever.”

“That won’t happen,” Rumi insists. “I’ll have Mira and Zoey. I’ll have you.”

“Yes,” Celine smiles.

Rumi shrugs, easing a wide grin across her face in spite of the pounding in her chest. “I can do this,” she pledges. “I will do this.”

She loops that in her mind as Celine drives her back home. Perhaps by the time they arrive, she’ll believe it.

.

Celine drops Rumi off with a long hug and a promise to call soon to discuss a plan. The apartment is dim, blinds closed against the morning sun. Rumi closes the door as quietly as she can, though Cat and Bird never mind being disturbed and Rumi still doesn’t really know if Mira and Zoey sleep like they used to.

She leans over where they’re laying on the couch—they do look asleep, though they’re sprawled more like a blanket than like people. Rumi circles them carefully, trying not to get too close and wake them up, but it really is a fascinating thing—this is more time than she’s spent with any spirit, let alone two, and Rumi can’t let herself pass up the opportunity to study them. They’re not as ghostly as when they first met, but they aren’t anywhere near corporeal either—there’s a faint depression as Mira’s leg rests on one of Rumi’s pillows, but not big enough to reflect the full weight of her foot.

“My eyes are up here,” Mira grumbles.

Rumi whips around, embarrassed at being caught, but it turns out Mira is a liar. Either that, or she’s just teasing—her eyes aren’t even open.

“Your eyes aren’t even open,” Rumi mumbles back, pressing the backs of her hands to her cheeks in an effort to rid them of their sudden blush.

“I can feel you staring.” Mira opens her eyes, smirking when she finds Rumi already looking at her.

“Scrutinizing,” Rumi corrects. “Do you mean that, or were you just kidding?”

“What?”

“That you could feel me…looking,” Rumi says, trying not to blush again.

“Staring?”

“Looking.”

Mira’s mouth straightens a little and she adjusts herself on the couch, sitting up against the cushions. Zoey’s drowsy body follows, though she doesn’t seem to stir.

“I meant it,” Mira says when she settles. “Can’t you feel it when someone is watching you?”

Rumi thinks about that for longer than the question merits. She can feel when a soul needs her attention. She can feel when Jinu is holding something back, or when he wishes he could respond physically to her. But can she feel when someone is watching? It’s an interesting thing to think about because, upon reflection, Rumi always feels like someone is aware of her. Certainly she’s felt more perceived than usual lately, if her dreams are anything to go by. Rumi is surrounded by invisible things; she knows a body is never required for a presence. How is she supposed to parse that feeling out from an individual instance of observation?

“Rumi.”

She glances quickly at Mira again, schools her expression when she finds concern in Mira’s eyes.

“Yes. I mean—” Rumi shakes her head, just a little. “No,” she amends, “I can’t feel when someone is watching me. The ‘yes’ was just—I meant no.”

Mira watches her studiously. Her mouth thins to a serious line, but only for a moment. “You’re up earlier than usual,” she observes.

“Yeah, I, um—do you think it’s too early to wake Zoey up? I need to talk to you both about something.”

Mira doesn’t answer. She simply kicks her legs until Zoey, sufficiently jostled, wakes with a snort.

“I would have done that a little nicer,” Rumi admonishes.

“But you didn’t,” Mira shrugs. “What’s up?”

“Time’s it?” Zoey mumbles.

“Half past five,” Rumi answers, stifling a laugh at Zoey’s ensuing groan. “Are you awake enough for me to talk to you?”

“Will be soon.”

“Quit stalling,” Mira interjects. “What’s going on?”

Rumi explains as succinctly as she can, distilling her conversation with Celine into the most relevant (and least emotional) parts. Zoey does wake up more, and quicker than Rumi was expecting. She and Mira simply listen, though there are times when Rumi speaks faster in an effort to prevent anyone from asking a question.

“That’s basically it,” she says as she winds down her summary. “I know it’s a lot to take in…”

“We have to possess your body?” Zoey blurts. “At the same time?”

“Well—”

“Hot,” Mira smirks.

“I think we’re getting a little off track—”

“How would that even work? Could we all talk to each other at once? If you moved your arm, who would be controlling it? How would we know when to get out of your body, or would we be stuck like that forever?”

“Zoey,” Rumi and Mira interrupt simultaneously.

“Those are all definitely questions we’ll answer,” Rumi continues, as Zoey squeaks a soft apology. “But I guess I just wanted to know how you both felt about it. If it’s something you want to try.”

“Of course,” Zoey immediately answers.

“Do you have any other ideas?” Mira asks.

Rumi shakes her head. “But I would keep looking, if you wanted me to find one.”

Mira watches her again, and Rumi tries not to look away or squirm so much.

“Ugh, fine,” Mira finally says, rolling her eyes. “Don’t look at me. I’ll help with your plan. It’s been, what, like a month now? And I haven’t gotten sick of anyone except your stupid penpal. I’m not dumb enough to leave when this feels like where I’m supposed to be.”

“My apartment?” Rumi asks dumbly.

“Yeah, if you’re in it,” and that is enough to make Rumi look away.

“What about me?” Zoey grins, leaning closer to Mira.

“Get away. You don’t count; we were basically already on a date anyway.”

“Excuse you!” Zoey huffs, “that totally means I count at least double!”

Rumi watches them scuffle; they mostly stay on the couch, though Zoey’s limbs start flailing even more when Cat decides to join them. He jumps between their bodies, swishing his tail in the face of the person whose lap he isn’t in. Rumi smiles and feels her heart settle, though it could just as easily start thumping again. Her eyes flit between Mira and Zoey and Rumi realizes she’s seeing them as she imagines they look in life—she can see Zoey’s pink cheeks, the way Mira’s hair reflects off of them. The lines of their bodies are so solid they look real, and without a second thought, Rumi reaches forward to tug at the back of Zoey’s shirt, hoping to pull her closer.

Rumi’s hand, as it always has, passes through Zoey’s shoulder.

She manages to draw it back before either of them notice her blunder. But her movement does draw their eye, and they stop abruptly.

“Um.” Rumi gapes back at them, feeling very caught. “Thank you,” she manages to say, “for putting up with this. Well, with me. I’m sorry it ended up being soul-binding after all.”

“I’m not,” Zoey says easily.

Mira says nothing, which is truthfully a pretty positive response for her.

“A month ago you said you wouldn’t do that very thing,” Rumi prompts, smiling.

“I don’t think I ever said that,” Mira retorts.

“Okay.” Rumi can give her that one. “What I’m really trying to say is that, well, I know I have to help you, but also I would have wanted to anyway, that is—I’ve really enjoyed our time together, and there isn’t anyone else I would have—”

“Do you have a point in there?” Mira teases.

Zoey punches Mira in the bicep. “Shush! Of course she does.” Zoey seems pleased at how much Mira is wincing and turns her attention back to Rumi. “What were you saying?”

Rumi fidgets. “Well, that was kind of it; sorry and thank you and some other stuff, I guess.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Yes, I do,” Rumi frowns.

“It wasn’t like you knocked us out two years ago and then abandoned us.”

“Pretty sure your mom did the second part,” Mira appends.

“Yeah, but— ”

“Rumi,” Zoey interrupts, “if my friend punched you in the face and then I apologized to you, what would you say to me?”

“Get better friends?”

Zoey rolls her head dramatically and shares a pointed, unimpressed look with Bird, who has perched on the back of the couch. She reaches out toward a loose strand of Rumi’s hair, then realizes she can’t move it and pulls back. Rumi can hardly look away.

“I’m just saying you don’t need to apologize, and I’m glad I’m figuring this out with you.”

“Oh.” Rumi flushes and tries her best not to look away. “Me, too.”

“Ha ha, you’re gay for ghosts,” Mira jeers.

Rumi has never been so frustrated by her inability to tackle someone.

/

The mood in the apartment grows tenser as Rumi shifts into planning mode. There are ingredients she and Celine have to secure before she can begin the ritual, prayers and mantras that Rumi must memorize down to their intonation. She takes time off of school, citing a family emergency, and arranges for someone else to take over her classes. She knows Celine is making similar preparations—Bobby has already agreed to sit with Zoey’s mother while Celine herself plans to park her car near the Kang estate until Mira wakes up.

Rumi doesn’t give herself the time to worry about what they’ll do if either Zoey or Mira don’t emerge from their comas. Success is the only possible outcome.

“Your jaw is too tight during that line,” Jinu instructs, “relax a little.”

Even he has gotten serious, and though Rumi knows he’s just trying to help, she can’t repress the wave of frustration that rises in her chest. “I know, Jinu,” she practically growls. “I can’t imagine why I’m finding that difficult at the moment.”

“It’s only going to get harder from here. Learn how to overcome by starting with this.”

“What if I can’t?” Rumi whispers.

“I’ve known a lot of Shepherds before you, Rumi,” Jinu answers, his voice calm and assured. “You’re special.”

Rumi expels a slow breath and tries her best to believe him.

.

And so the days pass until everything is ready and all Rumi has to do is fall asleep and wake up at dawn for the ceremony. It’s just like every other Shepherd rite she’s completed, except it isn’t. No one else was counting on her for those, except maybe Celine. But even she wouldn’t have died if Rumi failed. The world might have been a worse place forever, but they would have been okay. They would have had each other.

“Hey.”

Rumi looks up to find Mira and Zoey watching her, their expressions lighter than Rumi thinks they should be, given what awaits them in the morning.

“Hey,” she replies.

“We have a surprise for you,” Zoey says, rocking back and forth on her heels. “Come join us.”

Rumi furrows her brow but follows them anyway. The common area, already cleared of the couch and most furniture to give their rite the space it deserves, has been flooded with pillows and blankets, dropped in a messy heap. Rumi can smell her favorite tea steeping, and she glances over to see a mug steaming on her kitchen counter.

“How…?”

“Bird is teachable,” Mira simply says. At the sound of his name, Bird flutters down to gently clasp the string from the tea bag in talons, lift it out of the mug, and drop on a nearby plate.

Rumi smiles. “And the rest?”

“Cat is stronger,” Zoey supplies, “but lacking thumbs.”

“Or a brain,” Mira mumbles. Zoey swiftly elbows her.

“When did you—”

“You’ve been so focused on studying,” Zoey says. “We had to do something or else we’d get super bored.”

“Oh, of course,” Rumi laughs. “My mistake.”

She grabs the tea from the kitchen and quickly arranges the blanket pile to accommodate all three of them. Rumi settles herself in the center and pats the space to either side of her. Zoey and Mira lie next to her; if Rumi closes her eyes and blocks everything else out, she can almost conjure the sensation of their bodies touching hers.

“I know tomorrow is really important,” Zoey murmurs, “and I also know that we can fix everything. But right now let’s just…rest.”

So Rumi does. She closes her eyes and imagines the day after tomorrow, sinks into her cozy blankets and envisions a life where this is normal. Zoey and Mira have come home from whatever it is they do—and it doesn’t even have to be this home, but these blankets here, and the two women beside her. They’ve come home and Rumi has moved all the furniture because it’s Wednesday and she missed them. They pass around Cat like a hot potato because he keeps stealing all of their pillow space, until finally Zoey rests her head on his back. Mira cuddles up to Rumi’s side and drapes her long arm across all three of them, and they fall asleep without worrying about the rest of the week.

“—umi?”

Rumi drags herself from an unexpected dream state to feel Cat sitting heavily on her legs. Zoey is peering over her as she cracks an eye open, which becomes two when she notices Zoey and Mira’s joined hands resting on her stomach.

“It seemed like you were gonna fall asleep for real,” Zoey says softly, “which I don’t think you wanna do.”

Rumi takes a deep breath, stretching her limbs. She tries not to move too much but Zoey and Mira let go, their arms drifting back to their own bodies.

“You’re right,” she sighs. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Rumi checks her phone, deeming it an appropriate time to retire to her room, given her early wake-up time tomorrow. “I don’t want to ditch you both, but…”

“Gotta stick to your routine the night before a big test,” Zoey smiles. “I get it.”

“Yeah.”

But Rumi makes no moves to leave, simply sits up and watches them silently.

She wants to tell Zoey how safe Rumi’s heart feels around her, how she finds it easy to be silly and open with her. She wants to hold Mira until they become one body, someone strong and capable of turning walls into doors. You’ve made a miracle of my life, Rumi wants to say.

Rumi breathes instead.

“Okay,” she exhales. “I’ve got four alarms set; I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Zoey salutes; Mira simply flutters her fingers in acknowledgement.

“Don’t hesitate to wake me up if you need anything.”

“We’ll be fine,” Mira says. “We’ll stay up all night gossiping and raiding your snack cabinet.”

“Oh, sure; you’re welcome to anything in there…”

“Kidding, Rumi.” Mira waves her hand theatrically through a couch cushion. “Pretty sure we couldn’t eat all your snacks even if we wanted to.”

“And we definitely want to,” Zoey adds.

“Okay.”

Rumi smiles at them but something in her hesitates, doesn’t want to leave them even if it is only to sleep in her own room. They both look tired and Rumi wishes she could stay and help them rest.

“Okay,” she repeats. Her right hand twitches, almost reaches out to try and hold one of theirs, but Rumi pulls it back. “Good night.”

She leaves before she can be tempted further.

.

(“Don’t worry about going to sleep,” Rumi hears as she lingers near her door. “I’ll stay up.”

“What if you fall asleep?”

“I’ll stay up,” Mira promises.

Rumi leans her forehead against the door. She listens for more but there is nothing except the quiet, unmistakable sound of lips sliding against each other.

She grabs her bedding and curls up on the floor. Despite her best efforts, she falls asleep almost immediately.)

/

Dawn arrives in darkness and disquiet. Zoey and Mira are waiting for her, but Rumi says nothing as she sets out all of her ingredients. She checks her phone just once and smiles at Celine’s text confirming when she’ll be expecting Rumi’s call. The belief is there; Rumi doesn’t need to see it written to feel it.

Rumi lights a dozen candles and places them in three semicircles of four. She burns incense and kneels, directing Zoey and Mira to do the same.

“Most of what is going to happen today will be done by me,” Rumi instructs. “At certain points, I’ll direct one or both of you to do something. If you decide to participate, it is irreversible. I cannot pull you out of the ritual once you choose to join.”

Both Mira and Zoey nod, and so Rumi begins.

Most of the ceremony is a constant stream of prayers. Rumi hardly stops talking, pausing only to blow out or re-light candles or perform smaller rites. Her knees are screaming—she hasn’t committed this much time to devotion in one sitting in years, but she endures. She has been conditioned to do exactly that her entire life. One more day is perfectly bearable.

Mira and Zoey don’t move, or perhaps Rumi is too focused to notice. At least two hours have passed by the time they reach the part of the ritual that requires their engagement.

“The door to the spiritual world has been propped open for us,” Rumi intones, placing a small bowl of noodles in front of Zoey and a cup of tea in front of Mira. In front of herself, she sets a steamed rice cake. “You exist on either side of it right now, but you must pick a direction. Pass through, and you have the chance to regain your physical self. Abstain, and you continue living as you are now.” She gestures to the offerings in front of them.

Zoey picks up her bowl first, taking a bite of its contents. Mira follows with a delicate sip of tea.

“You were called for guidance at the same time and so have been linked by those who watch over us, but you must also link yourselves. This is the intent before being.”

Rumi had given Mira and Zoey a brief rundown of what they should expect to see and do, and she is confident they remember everything. Still, an acute thrill of fear flutters in her heart that they’ll make a mistake.

They simultaneously set down their items and clasp hands, as if it was something they practiced every day.

Her mind settles a bit at their successful touch, even after they’d interacted with her dishes. Their ability to contact the world has always been stronger when the things they were touching had particular ritual importance. Even so, Rumi had at least three contingency plans for what to do if they failed.

Rumi continues speaking, telling stories of Shepherds and Anchors who have come before them. She recreates their paths with words so that Zoey and Mira’s souls will have somewhere to walk.

Rumi takes a small bite of her rice cake.

“The human body was not made to carry the weight of the world, but we are stronger when we bear it together.” She gestures for Zoey and Mira to consume another portion of their foods. She reaches out to place one hand on each of their knees, and she has to stifle a gasp—they are solid beneath her palms. “These are the roots that connect us.”

Rumi bends forward in a child’s pose, keeping her arms outstretched. She vocalizes without words, humming a lilting tune. If Mira or Zoey cannot see the way, they need only follow her voice.

The candles have almost burnt down and Rumi’s skin is clammy; she breathes her own hot air and feels little relief from her hardwood floor.

“Energy is always with us. We carry it before we are born, and it lingers after we pass. We are born into a cycle that will outlast us. This is the arc that closes the loop.”

Rumi inhales sharply as Zoe and Mira rest hands on the back of her shoulders. They are warm to the touch, growing hotter, and Rumi can feel nothing but the two of them.

Embers drip from their nails and burrow underneath Rumi’s skin. The cozy heat of their flames grows to a bonfire, and she feels an inferno pour of out her eyes.

Rumi screams.

.

Rumi is in her living room. Her furniture is here, though the items from the ritual are missing. Zoey, Mira, Cat and Bird are nowhere to be seen. It’s a sunny morning, and Rumi is alone.

“Hello?” She unfolds from her place on the floor.

There are quiet thumps from inside her bedroom. She walks softly in their direction, stepping with as little noise as she can manage. Rumi frowns when she peers around the doorframe—an unfamiliar man is fixing her pillows.

He looks back and notices her. “Hey,” he smiles. “Done in there?”

“Done?”

“With yoga. You know I’ll never join you, but I hope you at least appreciate the space.”

Rumi listens to the soothing timbre of his voice, the playful finish to his sentences. His hair flops artfully in eyes that are glinting in the early sun. “Jinu,” Rumi realizes.

“Yeah?”

Rumi shakes her head. “Nothing, I—sorry. I’m done; it won’t bother me if you make breakfast now.”

“Okay.” He squeezes her shoulder on the way out of her room. “The girls should be back from their run soon.”

“Okay,” she echoes absently.

Rumi sits on the edge of her bed and rubs the perpetual soreness out of the heels of her feet. She wiggles to get comfortable; this bed is bigger than— No, she frowns, then shakes her head again. This is as big as her bed has always been, firm and fit for three people.

She flops down and closes her eyes, letting the pleasant aroma of Jinu’s cooking wash over her. It’s spring, Zoey’s favorite season, and Rumi makes a plan to fit a trip to the florist into her schedule for the day. Maybe she can even pick up a book for Mira on the way home; wasn’t she in the middle of some stupid vampire series? She’ll snoop later.

The front door opens and the sounds of her girls filter in, Zoey trying to steal some food and Mira judging how Jinu is making it. But he must meet her standards because they don’t linger, and Rumi’s quiet is broken by her favorite people.

“Hi, baby,” Zoey says, leaning down for a quick kiss. She smells of sun and sweat, and a faint whiff of coffee.

“Hi,” Rumi replies. Mira is next; she swipes underneath Rumi’s eyes to encourage her to open them. Rumi does, and immediately thinks she should stay awake forever, just so she doesn’t miss an opportunity to look at Mira’s face.

“Did you stop for coffee?” Mira hums in confirmation and leans down for another kiss. “Why didn’t you get me any?”

“We only stopped long enough to get some beans, jagiya. Jinu said we were out and we need extra anyway.”

“Extra?”

“Your parents are coming over, remember?” Zoey drops her running gadgets on the desk and gathers some towels and toiletries.

“Oh, yeah.” Rumi heaves herself off the bed with a deep sigh and wraps herself around Mira’s back. “Shower before you distract me,” Rumi directs at Zoey, “or we’ll have another incident.”

Zoey skips toward the door and pinches Rumi’s ass along the way. “Love you!” she trills.

“You smell!” Rumi retorts, mostly for Mira’s benefit. The woman is almost physically incapable of producing any body odor.

She lingers for a little bit more, getting a few good squeezes herself, before very reluctantly letting go and making her way out to Jinu.

“I’m gonna help with breakfast.”

Mira pouts. “What, we can’t have any fun time just because Zoey has to shower?”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said about distractions?” Rumi grins. “You know I can’t resist you.”

She leaves Mira to stew in her blush and, determining Jinu capable of continuing without her assistance, starts setting the table. Not five minutes later, there are three strong knocks at the door.

“It’s open!” Rumi calls, though the knob is turning even before she speaks.

Celine drifts in, pressing a quick kiss to Rumi’s cheek on her way. “Good morning.”

“Morning, eomma,” Rumi smiles.

“Oh, are you feeling sentimental today?” a second voice teases, and Rumi drops the plate she was holding.

Ryu Mi-yeong is in the doorway, holding a container of homemade dumplings in one hand and fresh flowers in the other.

“Mom,” Rumi gasps.

Mi-yeong’s face falls and she hurries over to Rumi, collecting the shards of the broken dish from the floor. “Rumi-ya, are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“It’s you,” Rumi breathes. “I don’t understand.” She turns to look at Jinu, holding a spatula as he scrambles eggs. “What are you doing here?”

“What?”

“This is one of his tricks, isn’t it? I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.”

“Whose tricks?”

Jinu’s eyes widen and he starts to untie his apron. “What are you talking about, Rumi?”

“The eyes of fire,” she says. “The mouth wider than the sky.”

“Gwi-ma.” Jinu crosses to where she’s standing in three quick steps and firmly grasps her shoulders. “Rumi. Wake up. Do not fall asleep, do you understand? Wake up!”

“I am awake,” she protests, “I’m standing here awake just like you, I—”

“Don’t listen to anything he says!” Jinu yells. “Rumi, you have to wake up!”

.

Rumi is awake.

She is awake and looking down at herself, at the fire starting to spread around her body. Her hands—her claws—sink into Mira and Zoey’s flesh, pulling blood in their wake. Her Anchors are trying to rouse her, trying to provoke any kind of movement, but Rumi remains where she is, unconscious and unresponsive.

“You have a choice, little Shepherd.”

The voice, Gwi-ma, appears before his mouth does, but soon he is everywhere. He starts in her fireplace and fans out quickly, like kindling catching from a match.

“You will fail if you try to resist me. Zoey and Mira will be lost forever, and you will end the long line of Shepherds who have worked so hard to thwart me. But look at what you could have, in a world without duty.”

He conjures a perfect image of Mira, so serene and confident, such a contrast to the woman with her hand wrapped around Rumi’s back, leaning into her ear to plead for help. A beat, and Zoey joins her; they embrace each other and turn to Rumi with arms outstretched.

Rumi closes her eyes, willing the temptation to go away.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” her mother murmurs. “It’s just me.”

“Please,” Rumi whimpers, “please, stop.”

“Rumi,” Mi-yeong begs, “let me help you.”

Rumi opens her eyes, if only to let the tears escape. “You’re not real,” she cries.

“But I could be,” Mi-yeong smiles. “Don’t you want that?”

“What do you need a world of souls for, Rumi?” Gwi-ma asks. His voice is low and pleasant and in spite of herself, Rumi stops to listen. “Don’t you want an easy life? Take what you have earned. Think of how well you could be loved.”

Rumi stands. She draws in a deep breath; wordlessly, she hugs Mi-yeong. Zoey and Mira are waiting and Rumi wants nothing more than to fall into their arms, to let them cradle her and nurse her back to life—

She looks down at her reality as the fire encroaches in earnest.

Rumi stands before Gwi-ma, unflinching as he leers closer.

She thinks of Zoey and her easy laugh, her promise of hugs and whimsy. Rumi thrusts a hand into Gwi-ma’s left eye. “I am loved,” she grunts, trying to focus beyond the sizzling pain. She thinks of Mira and her sturdy devotion. Her right hand impales its counterpart. “I will be loved,” she grits. “The world has never needed you.”

Rumi wails and pulls with all her strength.

/

Zoey wakes with a sharp breath, which turns into a cough, which turns into several.

“Zoey!” Her mom is at her side in an instant, smoothing her hair and wiping an ice cube across her lips.

“Get off,” Zoey tries to croak, though very little is actually intelligible after two years of disuse. “Where’s Rumi?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying, sweetie,” her mother says as she tries to help Zoey escape her blankets. “Bobby?”

“On it,” an unfamiliar voice says, and though Zoey finally manages to open her eyes, she still can’t see him. “Rumi isn’t picking up,” he informs them.

“Have you tried Celine?”

“I will right now.”

Zoey’s eyes stop wandering and land on her mother’s tired face. She looks older than Zoey remembers, but mostly a lot of the same.

She smiles to match Zoey’s own. “Hi, sweetheart. I love you.”

Zoey nods, and cries without end.

.

It’s silent in the car as Celine waits. She’s tuned into the microphone she was able to install in Mira’s room years ago, though there isn’t any noise emanating from it, as usual. Celine has tried to check in every few weeks, to see if there’s been any update on Mira or the opportune piece of gossip dropped about her relatives. It’s never a bad idea to have something on a Kang family member. Celine would love to see their empire fall.

She checks the time just as her phone rings.

“Bobby?”

“Celine, Zoey’s awake,” Bobby pants. “A little discombobulated but otherwise fine; have you heard from Rumi?”

“No,” Celine answers, trying to keep her voice even. “Nothing from her or Mira.”

“Okay. Is that okay? I don’t really know how these things are supposed to go.”

“No one does, Bobby.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and frowns at the readings from her computer, which still indicate no sound from Mira. “When Zoey’s feeling up to it, start making your way to Rumi’s. We’re near a solution, I think.”

Celine hangs up and focuses fully on the audio software. She momentarily loses herself in adjusting its settings, which is the only explanation she’ll give later if Rumi asks what happened.

Someone knocks at Celine’s window and she yelps, almost sending her laptop to the floor.

Mira has her face pressed against the glass. “Let me in.” From her, it’s almost a threat.

Celine unlocks the car and clears the passenger seat. Mira slides in with a grace that shouldn’t be available to someone of her height.

“It’s good to see you,” Celine murmurs, starting the car. “Do you need anything from inside?”

“No.”

Mira leans her head against the window and watches her house disappear into the distance.

The drive to Rumi’s is short and silent. Celine parks and walks to the door at an unhurried pace, slowing even more when she sees Mira struggling to keep up.

Rumi’s front door is open and her stupid cat is sitting guard in the hallway.

Celine swallows her pride and leans down to address him. “Is she okay?”

Cat simply looks at her and swishes his tail. Celine slowly pushes past him and into the apartment.

Mira kneels to pick Cat up. “How’s she doing?” Cat meows and headbutts her chin. “Well, thanks for keeping watch.”

Celine has moved Rumi from the floor to the couch when Mira walks in. The floors are scorched and there is blood spattered between the candles, though Mira can see no injuries on Rumi’s body.

“Just knocked out from the magic, I think,” Celine declares. “She might not wake for a few hours.”

Mira sits down and rests Rumi’s head in her lap. She lets Cat get comfortable somewhere around Rumi’s middle.

She fixes Celine with a grateful look.

“I can wait.”

/

Rumi wakes.

She is comfortable and warm, and lying on her back. She opens her eyes, once again, to find a waterfall of pink hair spilling around her.

“Mira,” she breathes.

“Hi, beautiful,” Mira murmurs.

Rumi grins. “I dreamed about you.”

“Good dreams?”

“This is better,” Rumi answers instead. She reaches up to wipe a tear from Mira’s eye. “You’re crying.”

“Yeah.”

“It worked?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’s Zoey?”

“Underneath your feet,” Zoey mumbles, “waiting for my body to remember how to move.”

Rumi lifts her neck, too fast if the pounding in her head has anything to say about it. But Zoey is there, waving weakly and giggling.

“Celine and my mom went to get coffee after they put me here,” Zoey explains. “Rolled me, maybe, is probably more like it.”

“Almost two hours ago,” Mira adds.

“Wow. Just like that.”

“Just like that,” they both repeat.

Rumi nestles her head further into Mira’s lap; she revels in the velvety cotton of Mira’s shirt against her cheek. Her feet flex and dig into Zoey’s soft stomach, pulling peals of laughter out of her like bubbles on a summer breeze.

“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now,” Rumi says. “I’ve never had anyone like you in my life before.”

“Neither have we,” Mira points out.

Zoey’s arm unfurls from underneath her blanket and flops onto Rumi’s leg. She squeezes Rumi’s big toe—just once, but with force.

“Hey, look at that!” Rumi cheers.

“Oh, believe me, when I get my body back it’s over for everyone.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm!” Zoey chirps. “Skateboarding, dancing, snuggling Cat. Smooch City, population: both of you.”

“Hell yeah.” Mira reaches over and tickles Zoey’s cheek, prompting Zoey to try to chase her away by wiggling her nose.

Rumi laughs, rolls her eyes backward a little to peek out of the window. The sun is trying to filter in through her blinds, though she makes no move to help it along.

“Zoey, do you like flowers?” Rumi asks, smelling the fresh breeze.

Zoey momentarily abandons her contest with Mira. “I like trees!” she exclaims. “For climbing, mostly.”

Rumi tips her head up, trying to get a good look at Zoey as she talks. No other part of her body is moving, but only because it can’t. Rumi is certain on any normal day, her hands would just as involved in conversation as her lips. She can’t wait to see it.

“People think climbing a tree is all about the size but it’s the branches, really,” Zoey continues. “If you have a big tree with weak-ass branches, you’re gonna come crashing down immediately.”

Rumi smiles. “Celine has a house on Jeju. There are a lot of trees there I’ve never tried to climb.”

Zoey gasps. “Rumi! Yes! You’re a genius! Summer field trip, the three of us find every climbable tree on Jeju Island.”

Rumi watches the thrill of living dance across Zoey’s features. “It’s a date,” she promises.

Zoey’s eyes widen and her jaw drops open before she very deliberately closes it again. “Okay,” she blushes, “did you know your face is very potent? I forgot how it feels to be in my body when a pretty woman looks at me like that.” Zoey’s hand leaves Rumi’s foot and comes up to slap her own cheek.

“Zoey,” Rumi warns.

“No, I needed that,” Zoey replies. She bites her lip and tries to burrow down into her blanket, though she doesn’t get very far.

Rumi wraps her legs around Zoey and tries to pull her closer, but it seems a clumsy foot-hug is all she can manage at the moment.

“I like flowers,” Mira offers softly.

“Yeah?”

Mira nods. “Any kind, really.”

Rumi looks up and imagines a sunflower tucked behind Mira’s elegant ear.

She beams.

“Wonderful.”