Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The practice room smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and resin, its wooden floors polished to the point of reflection. Every light in the room burned bright, catching on the mirrors that lined the walls and turning the space into an endless repetition of the same scene: a single girl in white sweat pants and tank top, body aligned to the exact centimeter, arm raised at the perfect angle.

Rumi’s movements were precise, almost mechanical, but there was fire beneath the polish. Every strike, every turn of her wrist, was a declaration. She would not stumble, she would not falter, not here and not ever. Celine had drilled it into her since childhood, the way an idol walked into a room and the way a hunter stood in combat stance.

To Rumi, imperfection wasn’t just weakness. It was danger. And danger meant death.

The sharp squeak of the practice room’s doors broke the rhythm. Two girls stepped in, so different from one another that the contrast almost made Rumi lose her breath.

The first, tall, lean, with smudged eyeliner that looked like she’d slept in it, carried herself with an air of disinterest so thick it felt like armor. She wore her hair in a messy half ponytail, her clothes not quite in regulation, like she’d made a point of ignoring every rule Celine had handed her. Her eyes flicked around the room, narrowing when they found Rumi, and there was already challenge in her stare.

Kang Mira. The stray Celine had mentioned. Rumi had done her research on her. Youngest child of a successful corporate family, multiple disciplinary actions in high school, ended up running away from home at 18. She would be hard to manage…

Beside her, the second girl practically bounced, her smile so unguarded it looked out of place. Rumi noted how poorly cut the girl's bangs were, as if she’d cut them herself with a pair of dull scissors. Her clothes were bright and flashy, especially her mint coloured hoodie with a pink sea turtle stamped in the middle. 

This must be Park Zoey, Rumi thought. The girl Celine brought all the way from California. Rumi didn’t know much about her yet, other than her American heritage and how she was mostly raised abroad after her parents’ divorce.

Zoey clutched her practice bag to her chest like it might burst with excitement if she let go. Her sneakers squeaked on the floor as she rushed forward, then stopped abruptly, overwhelmed by the sight of Rumi standing there.

“You’re- Oh my god, you’re her!” Zoey blurted. Her accent slightly bent the words, soft California tones wrapping around the Korean syllables. “You’re Rumi, right? From Sunlight Sisters! Well, not from, but like-” She trailed off, cheeks flushing. It's not every day you meet the daughter of one of your absolute idols. “Sorry. I just- I can’t believe I’m here!”

Rumi didn’t answer right away. Her expression didn’t shift, it was trained not to. Inside, however, she felt the familiar tightening in her chest at the mention of the Sunlight Sisters. Her mother’s shadow lingered in every word, every expectation. But her face showed none of it. She just smiled politely at the girl's reaction.

“Yeah… That’s me.” 

“Oh yes, kpop royalty herself, Ryu Rumi.” Rumi heard the first girl's sarcastic voice cut between her and Zoey as she walked lazily towards them too.

“You’re late,” Rumi said coolly instead, addressing them both.

Mira barked a laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. Rumi noticed the collection of bracelets that covered her wrists. “Relax, princess. We’re not on stage yet. What, you got a stopwatch for us too?”

The corners of Rumi’s mouth tightened. “If you’re going to survive, you’ll learn that discipline isn’t optional. Demons don’t wait until you’re ready.”

“Oh please,” Mira scoffed, sliding her backpack off her shoulder and onto the floor. “I didn’t come halfway across the country just to get lectured about bedtime by some girl who thinks she’s perfect.”

Zoey glanced nervously between them, caught in the crackling tension. She stepped forward quickly, her voice bright and earnest. “Hey, uhm, maybe we could, you know, introduce ourselves first? I’m Zoey and I'm from Burbank, California. And I just- Thank you both for letting me be here. This is literally my dream.” 

Her words tumbled out fast, but her sincerity softened the air, if only slightly. Rumi’s eyes flicked to her, warm yet calculated, and Mira rolled hers but didn’t snap back.

The sound of heels clicking against the polished floor cut through the room. All three turned toward the doorway.

Celine entered with the quiet force of someone who didn’t need to announce herself. She wore her authority like a cloak. Measured, calm, but impossible to ignore. Once, she had been a third of the Sunlight Sisters, world stars and demon hunters who had protected the Honmoon with their voices and their battle skills. Now, she stood as a mentor, the one who had chosen them, Rumi, Mira, Zoey, to bear the weight of what came next.

Her gaze swept the room, lingering on each girl in turn. On Rumi, her pupil, raised under her watchful eye. On Mira, the defiant flame she’d chosen despite the risks. On Zoey, the bright dreamer plucked from across the ocean.

“Good,” Celine said at last, her voice calm but edged with steel. “You’re all here. This is where it begins.”

She crossed to the center of the room, the echoes of her steps sharp and deliberate. “From this day on, you are not only trainees. You are hunters. The last line between this world and the ones who want to tear it apart. The Sunlight Sisters carried that burden before you. Now, it is yours.”

Mira crossed her arms, smirking like she’d been waiting to be impressed. Zoey’s eyes went wide, awe shimmering in them like stars. And Rumi… Rumi straightened her shoulders, every muscle tensing with determination, her gaze locked on her mentor, already prepared to prove she was worthy.

Celine let the silence stretch until the weight of her words sank deep into them. Only then did she finally move, pacing the length of the room with deliberate calm.

“You will train as idols,” she began, her voice low, carrying the authority of someone who had stood on countless stages. “You’ll sing, dance, perform. To the world, you’ll be stars. Bright, untouchable, adored. But what the public will never know is that your voices do more than entertain.”

She stopped at the far wall, turning to face them again. Her gaze sharpened. “Your voices fuel the souls of your fans. Every note, every lyric, carries light. That light binds itself to the Honmoon, the barrier that separates our world from theirs.”

Zoey blinked, hands tightening on her practice bag. “Wait… So when idols… sing… it’s not just music?”

“Not when you are chosen,” Celine said. “Hunters weave spirit into sound. The stronger your voices, the stronger the bond between human hearts. And the stronger that bond, the safer the Honmoon remains. But when there are cracks, demons slip through,” her tone dropped lower, grim. “And when they do, they feed on souls directly. They hunt people. And so, you will hunt them first."

Rumi’s jaw clenched, the smallest flicker of tension betraying her otherwise perfect composure. She already knew most of this, Celine had told her stories of her mother and the other Sunlight Sisters fighting these demons and protecting the Honmoon in her childhood, but hearing it said aloud like this, with strangers standing beside her, drove the weight of it home.

Mira tilted her head, smirking faintly. “So let me get this straight. We’re supposed to… sing the world safe?” Her tone dripped with skepticism, but beneath it was curiosity, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

“You’ll sing,” Celine said, not missing a beat. “You’ll dance. You’ll become the kind of idols the world cannot look away from. Because the more people who give you their hearts, the stronger the Honmoon becomes. But that is only half your duty.”

She crossed to a weapons rack, wooden replicas of different types of weapons once used by the hunters before them, drawing from it a wooden sword. “Each of you will train in both arts. Song and steel. To channel your voices, and to banish what breaks through. Because when demons appear in this city. They are subtle, insidious. And you will be the ones sent to find them… and end them.”

Mira whistled low. “Now that part I can get behind.”

“One day, soon,” Celine slid her palm over the wooden blade of the replica sword before returning it to the rack, “You'll learn to weave the Honmoon and summon your own weapons. You'll think of them as extensions of yourself, and you'll learn to use them with precision and will.”

The weight of her words settled over them like armor being fitted to bone.

“You are not merely training for your debut,” she continued. “You are training to protect every soul that sings with you. You will not only be idols. You will be hunters. Fail as idols, and the world will not give you their light. Fail as hunters, and that light will not be enough to keep the cracks closed. Fail at both…” She let the sentence hang, unfinished, more frightening than if she’d spoken the words.

Zoey swallowed hard, her earlier excitement now tempered by a nervous tremor. Mira exhaled through her nose, her eyes were sharp with thought. And Rumi stood taller, the weight of her purpose already shaping into a blade she meant to wield.

Celine studied them, her eyes softening only slightly as she saw their reactions. “Your first lesson begins now. We’ll see if you can even move as one before we teach you to fight as one.”

The mirrors were fogged with breath and effort, the air in the room thick with the scent of sweat and resin. Mira lay flat on her back on the polished floor, chest heaving, hair plastered to her face in damp strands. Beside her, Zoey slumped against the wall, legs stretched out, eyes wide as she gulped down water like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted.

She let out a groan, “Oh my god. I didn’t even know I had muscles in half the places that hurt right now.”

Rumi stood at the center of the room, posture as composed as when they’d begun. Not a hair out of place, not a bead of sweat betraying her hours of exertion. She drew her towel slowly across her arms, almost ceremonially, as though she had been through nothing more strenuous than a walk through the park.

Mira cracked one eye open and groaned. “Are you kidding me? You’re not even tired?”

Rumi met her gaze with a flicker of surprise at her new teammate's reaction. “I’ve been training like this since I was twelve.”

Zoey let out a weak laugh between breaths. “Twelve? Oh my god. I… I think my legs forgot how to exist.” She rubbed her calves dramatically

Mira huffed and rolled her eyes dramatically, “Celine’s insane,” she muttered, staring up at the ceiling lights.

Celine’s heels clicked against the floor as she approached them. Her presence was as calm as ever, though her eyes lingered on Mira and Zoey with a trace of approval. “Enough for tonight. You’ll adjust.” Then she turned to Rumi. “Show them to their rooms, please”

Rumi nodded her head slightly, not needing more instruction. “Right away.”

Zoey pushed herself up with a groan, wobbling as she found her balance. “Rooms? We get to stay here? Like… like roomies?” Her face lit up with renewed energy. “This is seriously a dream come true.”

Rumi couldn't help but chuckle at the younger girl's excitement over being roommates. She had never met someone this energetic. She grabbed her bag from the corner of the room, neatly organised belongings inside a purple duffle bag with white straps.

Zoey jogged to catch up with Rumi who, by the time she managed to shove her towel and water bottle into her bag, had been waiting by the door. Her enthusiasm bubbled past her exhaustion. “Do we get to decorate them? I brought some posters from home- Oh, you probably don’t care about that, but I think it’ll make it feel more, like… homey.”

Rumi nodded. “You can decorate your rooms, within reason. You should make your space comfortable. We’ll be living here for some time.” Her voice carried the calm professionalism of someone reciting agency rules, but there was the faintest edge of openness, an acknowledgment that closeness, even if carefully curated for a goal, might be useful.

Mira sat up slowly, rolling her shoulders, still catching her breath. “Great, I've always wanted to live in the middle of nowhere," she muttered, but she stood, grabbed her own discarded backpack, and followed anyway, her stride heavy with irritation.

The halls of the house were quieter at night. Rumi walked with measured steps, back straight, as though even this simple task was another chance to demonstrate composure. Zoey trailed close, eyes darting to every room and piece of decor or memorabilia they passed with unguarded wonder. Mira walked last, hands shoved into her pockets, eyes fixed on the floor like she didn’t care where they were going.

The trio reached the hallway with their bedrooms. Rumi’s door was the only one on the left side of the hall, and so she turned towards the two open doors on their right.

“These will be your rooms. You can pick whichever one you'd prefer. Mine is just across and Celine's is down the hall,” Rumi gestured between both doors, and then toward the lonely closed door further down the corridor. Mira fixed her round glasses on the bridge of her nose and peeked inside the two rooms. They appeared identical, with minimal decoration.

“So,” Zoey chirped, “This… This is so cool. Like, actually amazing. I’ve never shared a place before, so this’ll be new for me, but- I mean, it’ll be fun, right? We can get to know each other!”

Rumi showed her a soft smile. “It would benefit us to become closer. We’ll be working as one. The more we understand each other, the better our chances will be.”

Zoey’s smile grew. “Exactly! I knew you’d get it.”

Behind them, Mira let out a dismissive laugh. “Pass.”

Zoey glanced back, pouting slightly at the taller girl's rejection. “Pass?”

“I didn’t sign up for slumber parties,” Mira said flatly. Her eyes flicked up to Rumi, challenging. “You can play perfect little idol friends all you want, but I do my own thing. Always have, always will.”

Zoey blinked after her, her pout growing into a frown. “Oh… uhm, okay.” She glanced at Rumi for some kind of reassurance.

Rumi’s expression didn’t shift, despite the annoying feeling starting to bubble within her chest. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why Mira was so hostile towards them. Then she turned back to Zoey. “We can talk more about what you plan to do with your room later at dinner, if you want,” she suggested with a comforting voice.

Zoey’s grin returned, wide and genuine. “Okay. That sounds good. Maybe we three could-”

One of the doors slammed shut, and Mira was nowhere in sight.

Zoey winced, her words cutting off. Rumi’s gaze lingered on the closed door, unreadable. The silence stretched for a moment, broken only by the creak of the old house settling around them.

“I guess she really wanted that room.” Rumi said awkwardly, unsure of what to do in that moment.

Zoey nodded, her smile dimming but not extinguished. She glanced at the door too, worry flickering across her face. “She’s… not really the team player type, huh?”

Rumi’s expression softened just enough to show a trace of acknowledgment. “She will come around, in time.” 

She had to.

Chapter Text

The house breathed differently in the morning. Out beyond the windows, the Korean countryside was still wrapped in a faint veil of mist, the fields pale with dew. Sunlight came softly here, spilling across the worn wooden floors and catching on the dust that drifted lazily in the air.

Rumi was already awake. Her alarm clock had gone off at six sharp, but she hadn’t really needed it, her body was tuned to this rhythm years ago. Her sheets were smoothed flat, corners tucked in so tight anyone would have trouble finding a single crease on the sheets. The mirror above her dresser showed a girl who had already washed, tied her hair into a neat braid, and slipped into a fresh set of clothes, black sweats, fitted white tshirt, nothing out of place, not even a wrinkle on the fabric.

The air in her room smelled faintly of lavender. Rumi liked it. It was calm, disciplined, everything in order, everything under control. She took her time pulling her duffle bag onto the bed, checking the contents piece by piece. Towel, water bottle, notebook, enough writing supplies to last her years, and a metronome to keep score of her times in the different exercises Celine gave her. She zipped it shut and set it by the door before glancing at the clock again. 6:45.

Across the hall, the house wasn’t so orderly. Not even close.

Zoey’s alarm was still buzzing, muffled under a pillow she had thrown over it sometime around six thirty. She finally stirred, one foot kicking out from under her bedsheets, and groaned into her pillow. 

“Ughhh… Too earlyyyy…” Her voice was raspy, English vowels spilling out in a whine. She’d dreamed of meeting her idol, of being chosen for something great. But she hadn’t pictured mornings like this, where her whole body ached from the previous night’s drills.

She sat up slowly, hair sticking out in several unflattering directions, and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Her old t-shirt, bright turquoise with a faded cartoon dolphin on the front, a souvenir she had gotten from the aquarium back home, was wrinkled beyond saving. She blinked at the unfamiliar room, the plain dresser, the cream curtains pulled half open, the desk shoved into one corner with her things spread messily over it. A half-unpacked suitcase sat by the bed, clothes spilling out like a volcano eruption. She grinned a little despite her grogginess. This was her home now.

Zoey swung her legs over the side of the bed, only to immediately wince at the pain that shot through her calves. “Ow. Ow, ow, ow,” she muttered, grabbing the edge of the mattress for support. 

She made her way toward her bag, rummaging until she found a small bundle of posters rolled up in a rubber band. Some of famous singers, her most prized one being of the Sunlight Sisters, and some of games she enjoyed playing in her down time. She paused, smiling at them, and whispered, “Later. I’ll put you up later.” Then she tossed them back onto the desk and went searching for a fresh set of clothes.

Right next to her, a third alarm had been silenced long ago.

The first streaks of sunlight were creeping past her blinds, painting faint bars across the walls of Mira’s room. Clothes were scattered over the chair and floor, a careless sprawl of denim and hoodies. Her backpack from yesterday's practice was still half-zipped in the corner, the contents shoved inside haphazardly.

She was still sprawled on her bed, one arm thrown across her forehead, earbuds in her ears from the night before. Her expression was relaxed, almost smug, even in sleep, as if she had decided the world could wait for her to wake up.

Rumi stepped out into the hallway first, with her duffle bag slung neatly over her shoulder. The floorboards creaked faintly under her weight, but otherwise the house was still, the only sound the distant hum of cicadas outside. She paused in front of the two doors, debating for a second. Zoey had seemed eager last night, but it wouldn’t hurt to ensure she was awake.

She raised her hand to knock, but the door swung open before her knuckles touched the white painted wood.

Zoey stumbled out, hair still messy, but now tied into two low pigtails that rested on her shoulders. Her own practice bag hung off one shoulder like it might slip off any second. She froze when she saw Rumi standing there, her eyes wide, then gave a sheepish laugh. “Oh! Uh, hi. Morning!”

Rumi blinked, her raised hand still suspended awkwardly between them. She lowered it slowly.

“Morning,” she answered, her tone polite but careful, each word measured. Rumi was, for the first time in years, feeling like a fish out of the water. All because this girl was talking to her in such an unfamiliar casualty. Most of her conversations were with Celine, journalists, or people from the idol industry. She felt the shape of the word in her mouth, testing it like she wasn’t sure if she’d said it the right way.

Zoey beamed at her. “Did you sleep okay? I mean, it’s kind of different here, huh? Like, it’s so quiet. Back home I always had traffic outside, or, like, neighbors arguing through the walls. But this-” she waved her hands vaguely toward the countryside beyond the windows, “this feels like, I don’t know… a retreat or something.”

Rumi gave a short nod, her face composed as always. “It’s peaceful,” she said at last. Her eyes lingered on Zoey for a beat longer than necessary, studying her face for every freckle, and how she was once again wearing another animal themed top, this time a cat, poorly concealed by a black training jacket she’d rushed to put on. Somehow, the contrast between Zoey’s chaos and her own measured order made Rumi’s chest tighten, though she wasn’t sure if it was annoyance or… something else.

Zoey shifted her bag higher on her shoulder, grinning again. “You were already up, weren’t you? You probably ran a marathon before I even opened my eyes.”

Rumi blinked. “A marathon…? No I just did some stretches,” she said, a faint note of confusion in her voice, as though she couldn’t tell if it was meant as a joke or a serious accusation.

Zoey laughed, the sound light and genuine, and Rumi found herself almost, almost, wanting to laugh freely with her.

But then her gaze flicked toward the closed door next to Zoey's. No sound came from inside. No creak of movement, no sign of life. Rumi’s brow furrowed, the faintest crease breaking her otherwise composed expression.

“Mira isn’t awake,” she observed quietly.

Zoey followed her look, biting her lip. “Oh… yeah. She, uhm… didn’t seem like a morning person.” She tried to keep her tone light, but the words carried a note of unease, like she already knew this was going to be a problem.

Rumi stared at the door a moment longer, her thoughts unreadable.

The silence stretched, heavy in the stillness of the hallway. Rumi’s gaze stayed fixed on Mira’s closed door, while Zoey shuffled her feet, not sure what to say next.

The soft click of heels against the wooden floor broke the quiet. Celine appeared from the other end of the corridor that connected with the rest of the house, dressed in a crisp blouse and slacks, her long hair tied back with effortless precision. Even in the comfort of her own house, she carried herself with the kind of poise that drew attention without demanding it.

“Good,” she said, her voice warm but composed as her eyes fell on Rumi and Zoey. “You’re both awake. Breakfast is ready.” Her gaze lingered a moment longer on Rumi, softened by a trace of familiarity. Then it shifted, inevitably, to the one door still closed.

Her expression didn’t harden, but a faint shadow crossed it. “And Mira?”

“She isn’t here yet,” Rumi answered.

Celine exhaled slowly, then approached the closed with measured steps. She raised her hand and knocked gently at first. “Mira?” she called, her voice calm, even kind. “Breakfast is ready.”

No response.

Celine waited a few beats, then knocked again, this time firmer. “You need to get up. The day doesn’t wait for us, and neither does the work.”

From inside came a muffled groan. The bedframe creaked audibly even through the door, then Mira’s voice, hoarse and dripping with irritation. “Ten more minutes.”

Celine’s lips pressed into a thin line. She kept her tone even, but there was no mistaking the steel threaded through it. “This isn’t a vacation, Mira. You asked to be here. That means showing up, on time, every time.”

Another pause. Then Mira’s dry laugh filtered through the door. “Asked? Pretty sure you scouted me, remember? You came to me. So maybe I’ll decide when I show up.”

Zoey winced, her eyes darting between the door and Celine like she was watching something she definitely shouldn’t interfere in. Rumi only crossed her arms, her expression unreadable but sharp.

Celine stood there, her hand still resting lightly against the doorframe. For a moment, her face betrayed nothing. But when she finally spoke, her tone shifted, not sharp, but steady, and undeniably final.

“Mira. Come to the table. You don’t have to like the rules, but you will follow them. If you want to walk away, the door is open. But if you’re staying, you will act like part of this team.”

The silence on the other side was thick, then finally, the sound of footsteps, slow, feet dragging towards the door. It swung open a crack, revealing Mira’s face, messy pink hair and tired, annoyed eyes, one earbud still dangling from her ear.

She leaned against the frame. “You’re really doing this, huh?”

Celine’s eyes softened just enough to reveal the faintest glimmer of patience beneath the strictness. “Get dressed, the food is getting cold.”

Mira rolled her eyes, but still she did as Celine said, albeit begrudgingly. After a few minutes the door opened again, this time the rest of the way, and she shuffled out in some kind of band tshirt and navy blue leggings.

Zoey let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Rumi straightened, her expression smoothing back into calm, though her eyes flicked briefly toward Mira, who followed behind then, with a hint of frustration.

The dining room sat at the back of the house, its long wooden table polished smooth by years of careful upkeep. Morning light spilled through the tall windows, catching on porcelain bowls and the faint steam rising from freshly cooked rice, eggs, and an assortment of side dishes. 

Rumi slid into her usual seat without hesitation, posture straight, hands folded neatly in her lap until everyone else arrived. She glanced at the spread with a faint nod of approval. Nutritious, balanced, the kind of meal Celine always prepared for her.

Zoey was the first to follow, her eyes going wide at the sight. “Whoa,” she whispered, almost reverently. “This looks… amazing.” She hurried into the chair across from Rumi, nearly tripping over her own bag as she set it down beside her. “This is, like, an actual breakfast. Back home I’d just grab a granola bar on the way to school, maybe a latte if I had time. This looks… wow.” She clasped her hands together, the excitement bubbling up despite her aching muscles. Her hands hovered uncertainly over the chopsticks, like she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to wait or dive in.

Mira was last, dragging her feet as she entered the room. She dropped into the chair nearest the coffee like gravity had pulled her there, reaching immediately for the pitcher.

Rumi’s brow twitched. “You’re supposed to wait until-”

“It’s coffee,” Mira cut her off, pouring herself a full cup in one go. She didn’t even look up. “Relax.”

Zoey gave a nervous laugh, glancing at Rumi as though for permission before reaching for the rice bowl. “Um… should I…?”

“Go ahead,” Celine said as she entered the dining room last, her calm presence settling over the table like a veil. She carried a small plate of grilled fish, setting it down before taking her own seat at the head. Her gaze swept over the three of them in silence for a beat, noting the tension still hanging in the air.

“Breakfast isn’t just a meal,” she said at last. “It’s the first moment of the day we share. A reminder that we’re not doing this alone.”

Zoey nodded eagerly, already taking a small portion of rice. “Yes, ma’am.”

For a few minutes, the only sounds were chopsticks clinking softly against plates, the faint hum of cicadas outside, and Zoey’s occasional hum of appreciation at each bite.

Then Celine spoke again, her tone warm but always with that same underlying steel. “You three are very different,” she looked between her three students, “but that doesn't mean you can't work together. Learning to harmonise with each other in your daily lives will be a key step to your training.”

Mira leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “So we’re, what, supposed to play family now?”

Zoey shifted in her seat, eyes darting between the two of them, then offered a tentative smile. “I mean… we’ve got breakfast together. That’s a start, right?”

Rumi ate in silence, each motion neat and rehearsed, while Zoey hummed happily between bites, trying her best to fill the quiet with little comments about the food.

Mira, on the other hand, ate like she hadn’t been given a lesson in table manners since childhood, because, in truth, she had, and she was very deliberately ignoring every single one. She slouched in her chair, one elbow propped on the table, leg raised with her foot resting on the chair seat. It was just enough to make Rumi’s eye twitch at her lack of manners, and Mira smirked when she caught the reaction.

Celine’s gaze flicked to her. Calm, steady, but not indulgent. “Sit properly, Mira.”

Mira froze mid-chew, then gave a sharp, mocking laugh. “Wow. Didn’t take you long to pull that one out.” She plopped the spoon back into her bowl with a clink, leaning even farther into her slouch as if to prove the point. “What’s next? Elbows off the table? Fork in the left hand, knife in the right?”

Zoey glanced nervously between them, her chopsticks hovering halfway to her mouth.

Celine didn’t flinch. She set her teacup down with quiet precision and folded her hands together. “Discipline isn’t about appearances. It’s about respect, for yourself, for the people beside you, for the responsibility you carry. I would think you, of all people, would understand that.”

The air seemed to change.

Mira’s smirk faltered, just for a second, before her expression hardened. She laughed again, louder this time, but it was sharp at the edges. “Oh, there it is. Knew it wouldn’t be long before somebody brought it up.” She jabbed a finger in Celine’s direction, eyes glinting. “You think because you did some research you know everything about me?”

“Your family holds a certain reputation in Seoul. The Kang name is very well known among higher classes. That should make this easier for you than most.”

Zoey winced, looking like she wanted to sink into her chair. “Uh… the food’s really good, though,” she offered weakly, but no one acknowledged it.

Mira leaned forward, bow both elbows on the table, her smirk twisting into something sharper. “Yeah, see, that’s the thing,” she said, her tone dripping with venom. “I didn’t come here to trade one gilded cage for another.”

Celine’s expression didn’t change, though a shadow flickered behind her eyes. “No one here is caging you. You're choosing to stay.”

“Choosing?” Mira barked. “You really love that word, don’t you? You found me, you dragged me here, and now you want to act like I begged for it. Newsflash: I didn’t. I don’t need this, and I don’t need you telling me how to sit at breakfast.”

Rumi’s jaw was tight, but she kept silent, her face carefully neutral even as tension coiled in her chest. Maybe it was the way she was raised, already with this destiny in sight, but she couldn't wrap her head around why Mira, or anyone, would act this way.

Celine let Mira’s words hang in the air for a long moment, her silence deliberate. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, almost motherly.

“You can be angry with me. That’s fine. But anger will not save lives. Anger will not close cracks. And anger will not make you stronger unless you learn to master it.”

The words cut through the room like ice water. Mira’s face hardened, but she didn’t reply. She grabbed her coffee, downed what was left in one gulp, and slammed the cup back onto the table.

“Whatever,” she muttered, pushing her chair back. The legs scraped loudly against the wooden floor. She stood, her expression a mask of defiance. “Thanks for breakfast.”

She didn’t wait for permission, didn’t look back. Her footsteps echoed down the hall, then faded into the house.

Zoey sat frozen, her chopsticks still hovering midair. “…Wow,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Rumi exhaled slowly through her nose. “She’ll burn herself out,” she said quietly, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed the effort it took to sound detached.

Chapter Text

The front garden was still damp with morning dew, shining under the sunlight like glitter. Beyond the low stone wall, the countryside stretched in soft, endless green, broken only by the distant shapes of skyscrapers in the city. The air here smelled different, cleaner, yet somehow sharper. Zoey drew in a deep breath as she bent into her first stretch.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, arms trembling as she reached for her toes, “this isn't so bad.”

Rumi stood a little further from Zoey, her every movement precise. Her back was straight, her breathing even, her stretches measured to count. She had always enjoyed early morning training out in the open air, and the smell of grass and flowers that painted the garden.

Zoey sneaked a glance at her, then hesitated before blurting, “So… About breakfast…”

Rumi’s hands shifted seamlessly from her hips to her knees, stretching into the next posture. “Yes?”

Zoey bit her lip, lowering back into a stretch that wobbled almost immediately. She caught herself, cheeks flushing, then tried again. “I mean… Mira. She was really…” She trailed off, searching for the right word. “I don’t know. Harsh? Angry? Just… yeah.”

Rumi’s gaze flicked toward her briefly, then back to the horizon. “She was disrespectful. Celine is trying to help us,” she said simply. The words came out flat, but not cruel, more like she was naming a fact.

Zoey frowned, stretching her arms overhead with a shaky sigh. “Yeah, but… I kinda get it. I mean, all these rules, all this pressure-”

“It isn’t pressure,” Rumi interrupted, her voice cracked, but only barely. “It’s structure. Without it, nothing holds together. Not a performance, not a team… not the Honmoon.” She bent down smoothly, palms flat against the grass, as if to punctuate her point.

Zoey blinked at her, lips pursed. “You really don’t bend much, do you?”

Rumi straightened, her expression flickering for half a second. “Is there something wrong with my form?” Rumi assumed Zoey was pointing out her posture during these stretching exercises, the true meaning of the younger girl's words flying straight past her head, making Zoey chuckle.

“No, no. It's just an expression.” Zoey waved her hands apologetically.

The duo went silent again, focusing on their exercises. Zoey couldn't help but almost stare at Rumi and her perfect form. Everything she saw Rumi do was perfect, from the way she carried herself around them, to how she handled their training. It made Zoey wonder if she and Mira would ever reach that level.

Zoey hugged her knees to her chest in a quick crouch stretch, looking down at the gravel. She hesitated again, then said softly, “Do you think she… hates it here?”

Rumi didn’t answer immediately. She breathed in, controlled, then let it out. “She hates being told what to do.” Her gaze shifted toward the house, the faintest shadow passing through her eyes. “That much is obvious.”

Zoey followed her look. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I just… I don’t want her to hate us too.” Her voice came out smaller than she meant it, but it was too late now to try to cover it up.

Rumi glanced at her, the words pulling at something she hadn’t expected. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. All Rumi knew was the girl in front of her looked upset, and it made her chest clench.

“Uh… Hey, she won't hate us,” Rumi began, her full body now turned to Zoey. Her right hand itched to reach out to touch her shoulder, but she kept it still at her side. “We're in this together. The Honmoon chose us for a reason.”

Zoey looked up at her. Those words didn't fully extinguish the flame of anxiety already forming within her, but it was enough to, even if just for a moment, soothe her nerves.

Zoey gave her a tentative smile. She opened her mouth to say more, but the creak of the front door cut her off.

In the house, behind a door shut firmly against the world, Mira lay sprawled across her new bed, one arm thrown over her eyes. The curtains were drawn, shutting out the bright countryside sun, leaving the room cloaked in a dim warm light. Somewhere outside, faint through the walls, she could hear muffled voices. Zoey’s easy chatter, Rumi’s quick replies, but she ignored them both.

Her chest still drummed with the aftershocks of breakfast. Every word from Celine had been like a spark against a pool of gasoline, and she’d let herself burn, too fast, too loud. She knew it. She didn’t care.

The worst part wasn’t even Celine’s rules. It wasn’t the posture corrections, or the endless emphasis on discipline. It was the casual way she’d brought up her family. Like she knew something. Like she had the right to say it out loud.

Mira rolled onto her side, glaring at the wall as though it had insulted her too. Her family’s name was polished gold in Seoul, the kind people whispered about. Old money. Old reputation. High society with high expectations. Mira had spent eighteen years suffocating in it, every breath measured, every word rehearsed, every choice corrected before it could even cross her mind.

She hadn’t clawed her way out of that life just to be shoved into another mold.

Her hand tightened on the bedsheet, knuckles whitening. The temptation to throw something, her pillow, even the lamp on the whole nightstand, buzzed under her skin. Instead, she sat up sharply, crossing the room in three quick strides and dragging a chair, previously left next to the closet and covered in her yesterday clothes, in front of the door. She planted it there, a barricade no one expected, no one might even test, but it made her feel better. Safer.

Her phone sat on her nightstand, silent, screen black. No notifications, not even from her socials. She hadn’t spoken to anyone back home since she left. She'd thrown the SIM card in the bottom of the river the day Celine scouted her, but even before that, no one was exactly blowing up her line. Let them wonder. Let them stew in the public shaming that came with the perfect daughter that had gone rogue.

Dropping back into her bed, Mira shoved her face into the pillow with a groan. She could almost hear Celine’s voice in her head. “Anger will not close cracks.”

“Ugh,” she muttered into the pillow, holding it tighter against her ears. “Shut up.”

Her muscles still ached from yesterday’s training, and she knew Celine would drag her through more of it today. The thought made her stomach twist. Not the work itself, Mira wasn’t afraid of hard work or breaking a sweat, of singing until her throat burned. No, it was the obedience wrapped around it. The constant correction, the eyes watching for every mistake, like she was back in that suffocating house with her parents’ disapproving voices ringing in her ears.

She pushed off the bed once again, like she couldn’t bring herself to stay still and brood like some hormonal teenager. Wooden floorboards creaked under her steps as she paced from one end to the other. Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye, hair messy, dark circles under her eyes. If her mother was here to see her she would surely have called her pathetic looking by now.

“You’re supposed to be at practice,” she muttered to herself, mimicking Celine’s voice in a low, mocking tone. She jabbed her finger at the mirror. “Sit up straight, Mira. Hold your spoon properly, Mira. Don’t be such a disgrace, Mira.”

Her jaw tightened.

She turned away from the mirror, crossing the room to the desk shoved up against the wall. Sheet music sat there, and notations Celine had handed out before their first lesson. A step by step guide on how to be the perfect little idol. Mira dragged her fingers across the pages, leaving faint smudges where the pencil had been pressed too hard.

She wanted to rip them in half.

Instead, she dropped into the chair, leaning on the desk, head into her hand. She told herself she didn’t care, that she could walk out whenever she wanted, go back to Busan, back to the streets, back to being nobody’s problem but her own.

But she couldn’t back out now.

Mira’s fist tightened until her knuckles went pale. She shoved the sheet music away, the papers sliding to the floor in a messy scatter. The sound was sharp in the stillness, but it didn’t make her feel better.

Her heart pounded too fast for someone doing nothing at all. Anger, hot and aimless, coiled in her chest until it burned.

And yet, beneath all of it, was something she refused to name, something that made her throat feel tight if she thought about it too long. So she didn’t. She just sat there, stuck in her own mind.

The minutes dragged, each one louder than the last. Outside, faintly, the sound of voices carried through the floorboards. The others were already starting without her.

Mira rolled onto her side, clutching the pillow tight again. “Let them,” she whispered, like it would make the knot in her chest loosen. “Let them.”

But it didn’t.

Mira stayed slouched on the chair, the edge of the desk pressing into her ribs. One foot bouncing against the floor in a restless rhythm. The sheet music she’d shoved aside lay scattered across the boards, but she ignored it, glaring instead at the blank wall above her desk as though it might offer answers, a distraction, anything.

Her fingers drummed against the wood. A sharp, uneven beat.

She wanted a cigarette. The urge crawled up her throat, familiar and sour, but there was nothing here. Celine had made her toss her last pack before coming into the house, something about how habits like those were incompatible with the life of a hunter. And now all she had was air that smelled faintly of wood polish and the faint detergent from the clean sheets. She hated it. Too clean, too controlled, like everything in this house.

Her gaze shifted to the small drawer in the desk. She yanked it open. Inside were the only things she had thrown in there the night before. A crumpled notebook with its corners bent from being stuffed into too many bags, a pen missing its cap, a few old bus tickets shoved between the pages. She pulled the notebook out, flipping it open.

Lyrics stared back at her. Half-finished lines, scribbled words crossed out, whole verses rewritten again and again until they barely made sense anymore. Fragments of songs she’d never sing, at least not here. Writing was never her strong suit, but it was a way to get her anger out when there was nothing left to punch holes into.

Her pen hovered over the paper. The words wouldn’t come. Not when every thought kept circling back to those words.

Your family is high class.

It tasted like poison. She pressed the pen down harder, scrawling a jagged line across the margin. The tip dug deep, almost tearing through the page. She flipped to the next and wrote without thinking, letters slanted and angry.

I don’t owe them anything.

She stared at it, chest tight, then shoved the notebook aside, letting it slam shut on itself.

Her knee bounced faster. She stood suddenly, shoving the chair back so hard it screeched against the floor. Pacing again. From the desk to the window, back to the bed, then to the door, always stopping just short of opening it.

Mira’s steps were sharp and uneven, a restless back-and-forth across the length of her room. The floorboards creaked under her weight, marking her path like a metronome. She ran her hand through her hair, then let her arm drop with a frustrated sigh. The silence pressed heavily, broken only by the sound of her own pacing.

She’d walked this strip of floor so many times it felt like a cage. Desk to bed, bed to door, stop. Turn. Desk to bed, bed to door, stop. Turn. Each time she reached the door, her hand hovered near the knob, itching to twist it, but she always pulled away at the last second.

It wasn’t even about the training itself. It was about the way it was being forced on her, about the expectation that she’d just fall in line. She wasn’t a soldier. She wasn’t a doll to be posed the right way. She’d had enough of people trying to control her life. 

Then, three faint knocks.

Mira stiffened. Her head lifted, eyes narrowing. She didn’t need to ask who it was, the rhythm was too light to be anyone else.

“Mira? It’s me.” Zoey’s voice came muffled through the wood, bright and unsure all at once. “Uh… I know you’re probably tired. I mean, I am. Rumi’s not even sweating, which is, like, wow, but also kind of terrifying, right?”

Mira didn’t answer. She turned away from the door, crossing her arms tight over her chest which seemed to be pounding less aggressively, betraying the fact that she was still listening.

There was a pause, then another knock, softer this time. “I just… wanted to check on you. See if you’re okay. Celine said we could have a break, and I thought maybe we could…” Her words trailed off before she picked up again, more hesitant. “I don’t know. Hang out? Or just talk?”

Mira exhaled through her nose, and slowly turned towards the closed door, still barricaded . She hated the warmth in Zoey’s tone, the way it seeped through the cracks in her walls without asking permission. It reminded her of sunshine, persistent and blinding, even when you closed your eyes.

She muttered under her breath, half to herself, “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

As if she’d heard it perfectly, Zoey’s voice came again, gentler this time. “I know I can be… a lot. But I really do want us to be friends. We’ll be stuck together for a long time, right? Might as well make it enjoyable.” Mira could practically picture the other girl’s bright smile in her head.

The word friends hit something in Mira’s gut, something she didn’t want to name. She forced the thought away, turning her head toward the window as if it could shield her from Zoey’s persistence. Outside, the countryside stretched quiet and green, the world looking deceptively calm. She envied it, the stillness, the freedom. Not this house. Not this door she couldn’t bring herself to open.

Zoey knocked again, the sound almost playful this time. “I brought some snacks from California. My mom wouldn’t let me leave without them in case I got homesick. I thought maybe you’d like some too. Or… if not, I can just leave it outside…?”

Mira’s jaw clenched. She hated how her chest tightened at that. Hated that Zoey’s voice didn’t sound like an order, or a lecture, or the hollow politeness she was used to. It sounded like someone who actually meant it.

She stayed quiet anyway. The silence between them stretched long enough that even the house seemed to hold its breath.

Finally, Zoey sighed, the sound carrying disappointment but not defeat. “Okay… I’ll leave it here for you. Hope you’ll come out later-”

The words barely faded when Mira’s hand moved. She moved the chair out of the way and reached for the doorknob, twisting it with a soft click that sounded louder than it should have. She stepped back slightly as the door swung open.

Zoey’s face lit up instantly, her smile wide and genuine, like she’d just won a small victory. “Oh! You- You’re-” she stammered, too excited to form proper sentences.

Mira leaned against the doorframe, arms folded tight across her chest. “You talk a lot,” she muttered, but there wasn’t any bite in her voice.

Unfazed, Zoey beamed, lifting a bag she had been holding at her side. “Okay, but listen, worth it! I brought snacks. Like, stuff you can’t get here. Well, probably can, but not the same, you know?” She rattled the bag like it was treasure, the crinkle of wrappers filling the quiet space.

Mira eyed it warily. “Snacks.”

“Not just any snacks,” Zoey corrected with the seriousness of a sworn oath. She crouched right there in the hall, opening the bag and spreading out a small collection. From candy Mira had never seen to chips of the most unappealing flavours possible, the girl had it all. “This,” Zoey said proudly, holding up a small pack of Goldfish, “got me through high school. Exams, heartbreak, you name it.” She grinned. “Oh and these?” She pulled out a package of some sort of fruit snack, “These can literally heal a soul.”

Mira stared at the pile. It was ridiculous, a mess so loud compared to the sterile neatness of this house it felt like a wrecking ball breaking through a sheet of glass. Mira's stomach gave a traitorous twist. She hadn’t realized how little she’d eaten at breakfast.

She glanced up to find Zoey watching her expectantly, hope practically written across her face. “You’re seriously bribing me with junk food?” Mira asked.

“Not bribing,” Zoey said quickly, shaking her head. “Sharing. Big difference.” She pushed a bag of sour candies toward her. “I mean, c’mon. Who could resist these?”

Mira’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, though she buried it under a scoff. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Totally,” Zoey agreed easily, popping one of the gummies into her mouth with a dramatic wince. “Oh my god, still so sour. Yep. Regret already.”

Despite herself, Mira laughed. Quiet, sharp, and cut short as soon as she realized it had escaped. She turned her face away, but Zoey’s eyes caught it anyway, her grin widening like she’d just scored a victory.

“See? Progress!” Zoey stood, sweeping the pile of snacks back into the bag. “So… are you gonna keep standing out here, or can I sit with you? I promise I won’t mess with your whole vibe.”

Mira hesitated, glancing back at her desk and the mess of paper around it, at the silent room that had felt more like a cage with every minute she’d spent inside. She looked at Zoey again, bright, stubborn, impossible to ignore.

Finally, she sighed and stepped aside just enough to let the shorter girl squeeze past. “Fine. But don’t touch anything.”

Zoey bounced inside like it was the biggest win of her life, plopping down cross-legged on the floor and unloading the snacks like offerings. “You got it. No touching.”

Mira closed the door behind them, leaning against it with arms still crossed, watching this ball of energy make herself comfortable in a space Mira had guarded so fiercely. It was absurd. Irritating, even.

And, against every instinct screaming otherwise, it didn’t feel half as suffocating as it had before.

Chapter Text

Zoey sat cross-legged on the floor like she owned the space, a handful of snacks spread out between them as if they were some sort of a peace offering. She tore open a pack of Twizzlers, the sugary scent bursting into the room, and held it out with both hands.

“Okay,” she said, bright and determined, “rule number one of friendship: Always share your snacks.”

Mira arched an eyebrow, still standing against the door, arms crossed like armor. “We’re not friends.”

“Not yet,” Zoey corrected cheerfully, shaking the bag so the candies rattled. “But the day is young.”

Mira scoffed, pushing off the door and pacing a few steps toward the desk again. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“You ever had these?” Zoey asked, leaning the bag towards the other girl.

Mira shook her head. “I was never one for candy.”

Zoey’s jaw dropped theatrically. “You don’t like candy?” She waggled the strand at Mira as if it could hypnotize her. “Try it. Seriously. One bite. It’s basically chewy joy.”

Mira raised an unimpressed brow. “Chewy chemicals, you mean.”

Zoey grinned. “Exactly. And your daily dose of Red 40!” She held the Twizzler out closer, tilting her head. “C’mon. Don’t make me eat the whole bag by myself.”

“I'd pay to watch you eat the whole bag by yourself,” Mira shot back, but the faintest twitch of amusement touched her mouth.

Zoey pounced on it instantly. “Aha! That was almost a smile.”

Mira scowled, looking away. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Yes, it was,” Zoey sing-songed, leaning back against the bedframe. She tore another piece off the candy and popped it into her mouth, satisfied.

For a moment, silence settled in the room. Zoey chewed noisily, content, while Mira sat stiff in her chair, eyes on the window but ears clearly tuned to every crinkle of the plastic bags. The air didn’t feel as heavy as before, still tense, but softer somehow, like Zoey had cracked it open with her ridiculous energy.

“So,” Zoey said after a beat, brushing sugar from her hands onto her pants, “what kind of stuff do you like then? If not candy.”

Mira shrugged without looking at her. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Mira repeated firmly, as though ending the conversation.

Zoey tilted her head, studying her. “That’s impossible. Everyone likes something. Music? Movies? Sports? Don’t tell me you’ve got zero hobbies.”

Mira drummed her fingers against the armrest of her chair. She didn’t answer, but the silence was telling enough.

Zoey softened her voice, not prying but persistent. “Okay, so maybe you don’t wanna tell me yet. That’s fine. But I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“You won’t.”

“Bet I will.”

Mira glanced at her finally, one brow arched at Zoey’s certainty. She wanted to scoff, to throw some sharp remark to shut the girl down, but Zoey’s grin was steady, unbothered, like she didn’t even notice the walls Mira kept slamming in her face.

Zoey picked up a different package next, ripping it open dramatically, like it was some ceremonial ritual. “Okay, this is, like, peak American snack. Chez-Its. Smells kinda weird, tastes like heaven. Wanna try?”

“No.”

“Too bad.” Zoey tossed the bag towards Mira, leaving her to try and catch it without spilling its contents. It thankfully landed safely on her lap.

Mira stared at the bag like it was challenging her. She wasn’t about to give Zoey the satisfaction of trying it, but she also didn’t throw it back. Her fingers hovered near it for a second before she leaned back again, arms crossed tighter.

Zoey caught the hesitation and smiled softer this time, her tone losing the teasing edge. “Look… I know I can be… Kinda pushy. But I mean it, Mira. We’re in this together. And it doesn’t have to suck, you know?”

Mira shifted, uncomfortable under the weight of Zoey's sincerity. Her walls stayed up, her mouth pressed in a thin line, but her avoidant energy was gone now, replaced by a restless tension that didn’t quite know where to go.

She looked back down at the red bag, blinked at it, then at Zoey. “It’s just crackers.”

Zoey gasped as though personally insulted. “Just crackers? Okay, wow. No. This is childhood in snack form. This is road trips and lunch breaks and crying on the couch after failing a math test. This is comfort food at its purest!” She held up a bright orange square she had taken from the bag earlier, wagging it at Mira. “This is America, baby.”

A laugh threatened to break out of Mira’s chest before she caught it, biting down on the inside of her cheek. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Thank you,” Zoey said immediately, as if it were the highest compliment. She shoved the cracker in her mouth.

“Fine,” she muttered at last, grabbing a single square and popping it into her mouth before she could change her mind. The crunch was sharp, the taste salty, cheesy, addictive in a way she hadn’t expected.

Zoey clapped her hands together like she’d just won a competition. “Victory!”

Mira shot her a death glare, cheeks burning. “Shut up.”

Zoey laughed, bright and delighted. “Oh my god, you like it!”

“I don’t.”

“You so do.”

Mira leaned back again, folding her arms tight as though to rebuild the walls Zoey kept knocking holes through. But she didn’t spit the taste out. She didn’t push the bag away, either.

Zoey, wisely enough, didn’t push further this time. She just leaned back, smiling to herself. “Told you. Everyone breaks eventually.”

Mira glared at her, but unlike before there was no bite left. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late,” Zoey said, leaning back comfortably, cross-legged on the floor, still surrounded by her own little altar of snacks. For a moment, they simply took turns sharing the bag of cheese crackers, absurd in its normalcy given the weight of the world they’d been dragged into.

Zoey licked cheese dust off her thumb, then glanced up. “So… I assume you didn’t grow up with junk food. What did you grow up on?”

Mira gave her a flat look. “Why do you care?”

Zoey shrugged. “I dunno. Just curious. Figured it’d be fancy or something. You’ve got that vibe.”

Mira bristled. “What vibe?”

“You know.” Zoey gestured vaguely at her with a Cheez-It still between her fingers. “Expensive taste.”

“That’s not-” Mira started with her usual fiery intensity, then cut herself off, realizing Zoey had baited her into answering. Her mouth snapped shut.

Zoey smirked. “I’ll get it out of you eventually.”

Mira crossed her arms tighter, but she reached for another square anyway, muttering under her breath.

Zoey’s eyes softened, catching the subtle shift in Mira’s guard. She didn’t poke at it this time. Instead, she chewed thoughtfully, letting the moment breathe before asking, casual as ever, “Okay, so if food’s a no-go… What about music? Like, what do you actually like listening to?”

Mira hesitated, chewing slowly. The answer perched on her tongue, ready to leap out, but she swallowed it back down. “…Doesn’t matter.”

“It kinda does,” Zoey said lightly. “We’re gonna be singing and dancing together, like, every day. Wouldn’t kill you to tell me if you like rock or ballads or, I dunno, death metal?”

Mira shot her a look so sharp Zoey almost choked laughing.

“Not death metal,” Mira muttered.

“Aha!” Zoey jabbed a cheesy finger at her like she’d just solved a riddle. “See? That’s something. Narrowing it down.”

Mira looked away again, the smallest twitch tugging at the corner of her lips. She hated how easy Zoey made it feel, hated that this girl who barely knew her kept digging past her defenses without even realizing it, and she felt powerless to stop her.

Zoey leaned her chin into her palm, studying her. “What made you say yes? To Celine, I mean. Why’d you come here at all?”

The question dropped heavier than the rest, quiet but pointed.

Mira froze, her hand stilled halfway to the bag. Her jaw clenched, her eyes flicking to the floor like the shadows might swallow the question whole.

Zoey waited, not pushing but not pulling back either. Just sitting there, giving Mira space.

The silence stretched, thick as molasses, until Mira finally muttered, low and sharp, “Because I could.”

Zoey tilted her head, curious. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Mira’s voice cut off like a blade, final.

Zoey let it hang for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.” No prying, no teasing this time, just quiet acceptance. She popped another square into her mouth and crunched. “Good enough for me.”

Mira blinked at her, caught off guard. No questions, no lecture, just… okay.

And somehow, that unsettled her more than anything else.

Zoey brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them, her smile fading into something smaller, quieter. “You know… when Celine found me, I almost didn’t believe it was real. Like, what are the odds, right? Some random girl from Burbank getting noticed by Celine from the Sunlight Sisters, of all people?”

Mira didn’t answer, but she didn’t tell her to shut up either. So Zoey took that as permission to keep going.

“I mean, first off, duh, I wasn’t gonna say no!” Zoey’s grin flickered back for a moment, playful. “You think I’d ever pass up a chance to train with my favorite idol? Please. I had posters on my wall for years. This is, like, dream-level stuff.”

Mira cocked an eyebrow. “You came here because you’re a fangirl?”

Zoey snorted. “Not just because of that!” She dropped her gaze to the floorboards, and began picking at the corner of the abandoned Twizzlers’ pack. “Back home, I was… kinda stuck. My mom’s in California, my dad stayed in Seoul after they…  Split. And I grew up in between. Never felt like I really fit anywhere. Too Korean in Burbank, too American when I rarely visited here. You get it?”

Mira didn’t nod, didn’t move, but something about the way her jaw relaxed and her eyes softened ever so slightly said she did.

Zoey kept going. “And I wanted more. I wanted to see what I could actually do. Not just sing in my bedroom. I wanted my ideas to reach people. I wanted it to matter.” She let out a small laugh, as if she had just told some sort of self-deprecating joke. “Cheesy, I know. But… it’s true. I figured if I said yes to Celine, I’d at least be giving myself a shot. A shot at… belonging.”

The words hung between them, raw but not desperate. Zoey had a way of spilling her thoughts that made them sound light, even when they were heavy.

Mira’s fingers drummed against the desk, restless. Something about Zoey’s openness, her stupid, unguarded honesty, pressed too close to things Mira had shoved down and locked away.

Zoey peeked up at her, waiting, her eyes bright even after everything she shared. “So yeah. That’s why I’m here. Not as cool or mysterious as you, I guess.” She gave a little shrug, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But it’s me.”

Mira turned away sharply, staring at the wall like it had suddenly become fascinating. “You talk too much.”

Zoey laughed, light and easy, realising Mira didn’t actually mean it in a hostile way, it was just who she was. “And you listen too much. See? We’re already balancing each other out!”

The quiet between them stretched in a strangely comforting wag, Mira still leaning back in her chair, Zoey fiddling with the Twizzlers pack like she hadn’t just spilled her heart out. For once, Mira didn’t feel like the walls of the room were closing in.

Then came the knock. Firm, precise, nothing like Zoey’s soft tapping from earlier.

“Zoey, are you in there?” Rumi’s voice carried clean through the door, steady, just slightly edged with impatience. “You’ve been gone for nearly an hour. Our break ended a long time ago.”

Zoey’s eyes widened, cheeks coloring. She scrambled to gather the snacks into her bag, like she’d been caught sneaking candy into class. “Shoot. I didn’t even realize-”

Mira’s expression hardened instantly. “Of course it’s her.” She rose from her chair. “Don’t open it.”

Zoey blinked at her. “What? Why-”

Before she could finish, the knob turned, and Rumi stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. She stood tall in the doorway, posture crisp as ever, her gaze sweeping over the room, first landing on Zoey, then on Mira.

Her brow furrowed. “So this is where you’ve been.”

Zoey stammered, “I-I was just-”

“We were supposed to be training,” Rumi interrupted, her tone calm but clipped, like she was reciting a fact rather than offering judgment. Her eyes flicked to Mira. “And you were supposed to be there too.”

Mira crossed her arms, glaring. “Don’t start with me.”

Rumi’s lips pressed into a thin line, though she didn’t rise to the bait immediately. “This isn't a game, Mira. You can't just skip training when you feel like it.”

“Maybe I don’t like being ordered around,” Mira shot back, voice low and sharp. “Especially by a little miss perfect like you.”

Zoey scrambled between them, hands half-raised like she was trying to calm two storms about to collide. “Hey, hey, it’s fine! We were just… hanging out. I lost track of time. That’s on me, not her.”

Rumi’s gaze softened slightly when it flicked to Zoey. “If we’re not together, we can’t function as a unit. And if we can’t function as a unit, people will get hurt.”

Mira barked a short, bitter laugh. “Oh please. Save us the lecture. You love playing the teacher’s pet, don't you? You memorized that line straight from your aunt.”

Rumi’s voice dropped, becoming sharper. “I'm not the only one Celine is trusting with this. We all have responsibilities here.”

Mira rolled her eyes. “Please. You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“I know enough.” Rumi’s eyes narrowed. “You’d rather sulk in your room than stand beside the people who are supposed to be your team. If you don’t want to be here you could just leave.”

Mira’s fists clenched, her nails digging crescents into her palms. For a moment she looked like she might explode onto Rumi.

Zoey finally burst in, voice quick and desperate. “Okay! Okay, whoa, timeout!” She kept her hands up between them, trying to physically block the invisible sparks snapping in the air. “Rumi, Mira’s just- She ’s adjusting, okay? It’s been a lot. And Mira, c’mon, maybe just… try? Please?”

Neither girl moved. Neither backed down.

Zoey’s voice softened, pleading. “We’re supposed to be in this together, right? Can we just… not tear each other apart before we even start?”

Her words landed like a warm weight on both of them. Mira blinked first, caught off guard by how calmly Zoey had spoken, by how much sincerity clung to each word. She wanted to snap back, wanted to turn her back and retreat to the safety of her isolation, but there was something in Zoey’s expression, something unyielding yet not demanding, that tugged at her stubborn edges.

“I… whatever,” Mira muttered finally, her voice clipped, though the sharpness had dulled.

Rumi took a slow breath, though the tension in her chest remained. Her eyes flicked to Mira, then back to Zoey, and she realized she had been about to start a war that didn’t need to happen. That should not happen. 

A small exhale escaped Rumi's lips. “Fine,” she said. “We’ll… start over.”

Zoey’s grin broke out immediately. “See? Not so bad. We can do this. One step at a time.”

Mira let out a short, humorless laugh, dragging her fingers through her hair. “One step at a time, huh? Don’t expect me to suddenly be all smiles and sunshine.”

“You don’t have to,” Zoey said, shrugging. “We’re allowed to have bad days.”

Mira rolled her eyes, but her gaze still ended up landing on Zoey.“…Don’t get used to it,” she muttered.

Rumi brought her hand up to rub the back of her neck a few times, her tone still held some tension but it was calmer now. “We need to get back to practice,” she said, trying to reclaim a thread of leadership, though the sharp edge had softened slightly. She glanced directly at Mira again, their eyes locking for a second. “Would you… Come join us? I'll talk to Celine about why you weren’t there earlier.” 

There was a pause. Mira looked between the two of them, who stared at her expectantly. She really didn't want to do it, to sit through Celine’s instructions and feel her constant judgement over her every move. But regardless, at the end of the day she had no choice.

“Fine…”

Chapter Text

The air outside was sharp with the bite of late morning, the kind that filled the lungs clean and left no space for excuses. The house’s wide garden stretched into a training ground, its stone path cutting across a patch of grass that had clearly seen better days. At the far end stood a tall, worn-looking dummy wrapped in thick layers of straw and cloth, its frame planted deep into the soil. 

Celine was already there, standing with her arms folded loosely, a whistle of wind tugging at her hair. Her expression softened when she spotted the three girls emerging from the house together. Rumi's walk is steady and rhythmic, Zoey bouncing slightly on her heels with nerves but also excitement, Mira dragging her feet through the ground reluctantly but not enough to make a scene.

“Good,” Celine said, her voice even, eyes sweeping over them. “You’re all here.” She gestured toward the dummy in front of them. “Today, we begin your combat lessons.”

Zoey blinked. “Wait- Combat, combat?”

Celine nodded once. “We can train your voices all day long, but at the end of the day your sound alone will not save you when the cracks open. You three must learn how to fight to protect yourselves and others from the demons that slip through.”

Rumi straightened automatically, her eyes already locked on the dummy. She had been here before, many times, since childhood, her body was tuned to this rhythm, her muscles carrying memory before her mind even thought to command it.

Zoey shifted on her feet, nervous energy buzzing, but her gaze was set. She wasn’t new to fighting, not exactly. Back in California, her mother had signed her up for self-defense classes the second she turned fifteen. Her body had muscle memory too, though not as refined, not sharpened for this particular stage. Still, she held her stance with quiet confidence, eager to prove herself.

Mira, on the other hand, stood with her arms crossed, weight leaned lazily to one side. Her eyes narrowed at the dummy like it was mocking her. She didn’t stretch. She didn’t loosen her posture. But there was a spark under her stillness, like something caged, waiting for the right chance to rip its way out.

“Combat starts with the body, not the blade. For now I want to see how each of you would face a simple obstacle.” Celine stepped aside, motioning to the dummy. “Rumi, please show them.”

Rumi didn’t hesitate. She moved forward with the calm precision of a well trained soldier, her body aligned, her breath controlled. Each strike was sharp and efficient. An elbow strike, a kick, a pivot, a finishing blow. The dummy rattled against its post but Rumi never faltered. She ended with her stance firm, head high, her breath even as though she’d done nothing more than a warm-up.

Zoey’s eyes widened. “Okay,” she whispered under her breath. “That’s… a little terrifying.”

Mira simply rolled her eyes and scoffed, unimpressed by the other girl’s show of strength and technique.

Celine’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “That was great, Rumi. Strength guided by control, just as I taught you.” She nodded toward Zoey. “Your turn.”

Zoey swallowed hard but stepped forward, rolling her shoulders like she’d done before sparring back home. She squared her stance, raised her fists, and drew in a deep breath. Her first punch landed with a dull thud. Less crisp than Rumi’s, but certainly not weak. She followed with a kick, sharper this time, her heel driving into the dummy’s side, then a quick rotation followed by a well landed backhand strike to the dummy's head. Her movements weren’t perfect, her rhythm uneven, but there was familiarity in her strikes.

Celine gave a single approving nod. “Good foundation. You’ve trained before, haven't you?”

Zoey grinned, sheepish but pleased. “A little.”

Then Celine’s eyes turned to Mira.

Mira smirked, stepping forward like she’d been waiting to be unleashed. No preparation, no stance, just raw motion. She slammed her fist into the dummy, the sound cracking through the courtyard. Another punch followed, then a knee, and a wild kick that jarred the post. Her strikes had no rhythm, no balance, but they carried plenty of weight. Each blow was fueled by something deeper than training, something sharp and volatile that spilled out in every swing.

By the time she stepped back, chest heaving, the dummy’s head had ripped halfway off the rest of its body.

Zoey blinked. “…Well. That was terrifying too. In a very different way.”

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

Celine cleared her throat and finally spoke. “Power without control is effective, yes,” she said evenly. “but dangerous, most of all to yourself.” Her eyes lingered on Mira a moment longer than the others, unreadable. Then she turned back to the group as a whole. “You each have your strengths. And your flaws. We will shape both.”

Celine stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over the three of them again, measuring not just what they’d shown, but how they carried themselves after. She clapped her hands once, a sharp sound against the calm morning air.

“Good form is everything,” she said. “Without it, your strength will not be enough. So you’ll start simple with a basic routine. Four strikes and a block. Over, and over, until your body remembers it without thought.”

Rumi moved first, precise as ever, falling into position without hesitation. Zoey jogged a step to keep up, shaking out her hands like she was psyching herself up before a game. Mira trailed last, dragging her feet into line, her eyes rolling but not enough to openly refuse.

“Ready stance,” Celine commanded.

Three sets of feet shifted across the grass, though not equally. Rumi’s shoulders squared, her posture textbook-perfect. Zoey’s stance was solid but uneven, her weight leaning forward just a little too much. Mira barely bent her knees at all, arms hanging like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Begin.”

Rumi snapped into motion, each strike slicing through the air with precision, her block crisp, her reset position seamless.

“Good,” Celine called. “But tighter on your guard. You leave your side open. Again.”

Rumi clenched her jaw but adjusted, determined not to leave a flaw exposed.

Beside her, Zoey’s punches landed firm but out of rhythm, her block a beat too late, her reset sloppy. She huffed in frustration, cheeks flushed, but jumped right back into the sequence.

“Good power,” Celine said, her tone sharper now, “but slow down. Rhythm first. Strike when the breath does, not before.”

Celine got to Mira last. Her arm swung in a half-hearted arc, her block limp, her reset nonexistent. She looked at the dummy, then away, her lips twisted in a smirk that was more boredom than enthusiasm.

Celine’s eyes narrowed. “Mira. Again. Properly this time.”

Mira gave a short scoff under her breath, muttering, “Properly, she says,” but didn’t pick up her pace.

“Form is discipline,” Rumi reminded, her voice firm, unshaken despite her precise strikes. “And discipline will keep you alive.”

Celine gave her pupil a small, proud, smile. “That’s correct. So we will be out here until the three of you find your form.

Zoey scrambled to keep the beat, and Mira dragged her arm through the motions, but her technique seemed slightly better, as reluctant as she was to follow Celine’s instructions

The sun crept higher as the minutes dragged into what felt like hours, the courtyard echoing with the steady rhythm of fists meeting the air and feet shifting through stances. Sweat began to bead on Zoey’s forehead, but even then she didn’t break her focus. She counted the beats in her head, desperate to keep pace with Rumi, but her strikes always landed just a fraction too early or late. Each mistake made her shoulders tighten, her breath grow uneven. Still, she refused to stop.

Rumi, as expected, moved like her own body was a blade. Sharp, relentless, unwavering. Every punch snapped the air, every block carved through the routine like a mark rehearsed a thousand times before. But even she wasn’t spared from Celine’s corrections.

“Guard up higher, Rumi,” Celine called, circling behind them like a hawk. “Your form is good, but you rely too much on muscle memory. Every strike should feel like the first, not the hundredth.”

Rumi inhaled deeply, jaw clenching, and adjusted her stance with subtle precision. She didn’t argue, didn’t complain, but the tightening of her lips gave away her frustration. For her, good was never enough. Not in Celine’s eyes.

Mira, by contrast, dragged herself through the motions as though each strike was a weight chained to her arms. Her punches lacked rhythm, her blocks came too low, as if she couldn’t be bothered to raise it fully. And yet, whether she admitted it or not, something in her shifted. Her movements, while half-hearted, were less sloppy than they had been at the start. It was progress hidden beneath layers of resistance.

“Again,” Celine ordered, her voice cutting clean through the sound of exertion.

Zoey reset her stance, chest heaving, and forced her arms to obey. She thought about her mother’s voice back in California. Don’t stop until you’ve done it right. She bit down on her lip and pushed harder, each punch coming with more weight than the last, though still tripping over the rhythm Rumi made look so effortless.

“Zoey,” Celine said, tone firm but not unkind. “Your power is strong, but your mind is betraying you. Slow down. Trust the beat of your breath. If you keep copying other people’s rhythms you won’t find yourself in the battle.”

Zoey nodded quickly, cheeks burning with both exhaustion and determination. “Yes, ma’am,” she breathed, forcing herself to slow, to breathe with each strike.

And then came Mira.

“Mira,” she said, her voice low now, carrying the weight of warning. “You’re doing better, but sloppiness gets people killed.”

Mira’s lips curled into a bitter smile, a spark of rebellion lighting her eyes. “Guess it’s a good thing it’s just a dummy, then,” she muttered.

Rumi’s head snapped toward her, disapproval flashing across her face, but she held her tongue, channeling her frustration into the crisp snap of her next strike.

Celine, however, stepped closer. Her shadow stretched across Mira’s stance, her eyes steady, unwavering. “Dummy or not,” she said, calm but with steel under her words, “we are not only training your bodies, you are training your minds. And right now, your mind is throwing the fight before it even begins.”

Mira’s jaw tightened, her fists clenching, but she didn’t fire back this time. She turned her eyes back on the dummy, her next punch landing harder, sharper, though still edged with defiance.

Celine paced slowly along the line, her hands clasped behind her back. She didn’t raise her voice this time, her silence weighed heavier than any shout could have. Every so often she stopped, adjusting Rumi’s stance by a fraction, nudging Zoey’s foot to steady her balance, or lingering behind Mira, whose stiff shoulders spoke louder than words.

“Again,” Celine said, quiet but firm.

The three fell into motion once more.

Rumi’s fist snapped forward, perfect in angle and force. Still, Celine’s voice cut through. “Shoulders loose. Precision does not mean rigidity.” Rumi exhaled sharply, obeying, though she felt a sting deep in her chest.

Zoey struck next, her punch solid but her follow-through late, the rhythm slipping away from her. “Focus on the breath,” Celine reminded her. Zoey grit her teeth and tried again, forcing herself to inhale, strike, exhale. It was clumsy, but she managed two clean beats before stumbling on the third.

Then there was Mira. She swung like she wanted to break bones, not learn forms, her punches landing with brutal force but no structure. “Your stance is falling apart,” Celine said evenly.

Mira let out a low, annoyed groan. “I don’t think the demons care how my feet are angled.”

Celine’s gaze didn’t waver. “They won’t. But when your stance fails, you will.”

This rhythm carried on until time itself seemed to blur. Sweat slicked their skin, muscles aching, but Celine never wavered in her quiet insistence. Every correction was clipped, every word measured, until their bodies were too exhausted to fight against the commands anymore.

Then, at last, she raised her hand, halting the motion. For a moment, none of them moved, but Celine only nodded once, her face unreadable. “That will do,” she said.

The words, so simple, landed like a mercy. She looked over each of them, Rumi standing tall despite her fatigue, Zoey bent forward with her hands on her knees, Mira scowling through heavy breaths, and gave nothing more than a final reminder: “You three did good, but I expect you to do better. We’ll resume training in the afternoon, you’re dismissed.”

Without another word, she turned and walked back toward the house, the faint sound of the door sliding shut behind her leaving the three of them alone with their bruises and their silence.

The courtyard, once filled with the steady rhythm of strikes, now held only the sound of labored breathing and the occasional rustle of wind through the grass.

Zoey dropped to the ground first, sprawling back on the grass with a dramatic groan. “Oh my god. I think my arms are going to fall off. Is that normal? Tell me that’s normal.”

Rumi sat down more carefully, crossing her legs and resting her hands on her knees, her posture still straight even in exhaustion. Her chest rose and fell with measured breaths, though the sheen of sweat across her forehead betrayed her effort. “It’s normal,” she said simply. “It wasn’t that bad,” she said, though the faint flush in her cheeks betrayed her own strain.

Zoey cracked one eye open at her. “Easy for you to say. You’re already so good at these things!”

Rumi’s lips twitched, but she said nothing.

Mira, meanwhile, had dropped onto the edge of the stone path, her elbows resting on her knees. She didn’t look wrecked, exactly, but there was a restless tension in her, like she’d used up energy without finding relief. Her gaze stayed fixed on the ground,but her ears were tuned to the other two’s voices.

Zoey sat up, brushing grass off her arms, her grin returning even as she winced at a sore shoulder. “Okay, real talk? I think I did, like, eighty percent of that right. Maybe. Fine, seventy.”

Rumi shot her a smile. “Maybe more like sixty percent. You still have a long way to go.” 

“Rude!” Zoey clutched her chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know, back home, my instructor told me I had, and I quote, ‘a surprisingly solid left hook for someone my size.’”

That coaxed the faintest huff of amusement from Mira, though she immediately disguised it with a scoff. “Doesn’t count if the dummy can’t fight back.”

Zoey leaned back on her hands, tilting her head up at the fading sky and chuckling before speaking. “Y’know… for the record, I don’t hate it.”

“Hate what?” Rumi asked, glancing at her.

“This.” Zoey gestured vaguely at the wrecked dummy, at the courtyard, at all three of them sitting there together. “Training. It’s hard as hell, but… it feels kinda good? Like, I don’t know. I’m doing something real.”

Rumi nodded slowly, a small hum of agreement in her throat. She was happy at least one of her new teammates understood the importance of what they were doing.

Mira didn’t reply, but her eyes flicked briefly toward Zoey before darting away again.

Zoey smiled to herself, letting the moment hang. She dug into her bag, rustling until she pulled out three brightly colored fruit puree pouches, their cartoon mascots grinning up at the group. “Recovery fuel,” she declared, holding them towards the other two. “Any takers?”

Mira blinked at them, unimpressed. “…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“They’re amazing!” Zoey insisted, shaking one for emphasis. “They got a bunch of vitamins at least.” She tore the cap off hers with a flourish and took a dramatic slurp. “Mmm. Apple-mango. Perfection.”

Rumi leaned closer to look at the pouch in Zoey’s hand, raising an eyebrow. “That looks like baby food.”

“It’s not baby food!” Zoey countered, glaring at her pouch as if offended on its behalf. “It’s… it’s nostalgia fuel. And it tastes way better than those chalky protein bars everyone pretends to like.”

Mira rolled her eyes. “Pass.” She leaned back on her hands, shaking her head. “I’m not sucking fruit mush out of a bag like a toddler.”

Zoey turned pleading eyes on Rumi. “Don’t leave me hanging here.”

Rumi hesitated to grab the pouch offered to her like some strange peace offering. And yet, a part of her recognized what was happening. Zoey was reaching out, trying to build something between them. If she turned away now, she’d be reinforcing the same walls Mira kept raising.

She took the pouch.

Zoey’s eyes sparkled with triumph. “Yes! Open your mind, Rumi!”

Rumi twisted off the cap, sniffed the top, then took a cautious sip. The puree slid across her tongue. Smooth, sweet, surprisingly refreshing after the heat of training. Her eyes widened a fraction before she quickly masked it. “…It’s not bad.”

Zoey gasped, pointing dramatically. “Not bad?”

Rumi allowed herself the faintest smile. “It’s better than I expected.”

Mira groaned. “Oh, unbelievable. She got you too.”

Rumi ignored her, taking another quiet sip.

Zoey leaned back with a satisfied grin, her pouch nearly empty. “See? Slowly but surely, I’m winning you guys over. First Cheez-Its, now fruit pouches. Next thing you know, you’ll both be begging me for Pop-Tarts.”

“Not happening,” Mira muttered, though her gaze lingered on Rumi’s pouch just a second too long, betraying her curiosity.

“What are… Cheez-Its?” Rumi asked, tilting her head slightly and gaining a wide grin from Zoey.

Oh, she was gonna have fun with these two.

Chapter Text

By the time they stepped back into the house, the air inside felt almost too still after the long morning outside. Cool shadows stretched across the wooden floorboards, swallowing up the heat that clung to their skin. The faint smell of food being cooked drifted from somewhere deeper in the house, a reminder that lunch wasn’t far off.

Zoey stretched her arms above her head with a groan, the joints in her shoulders popping audibly. “Whew. I don’t know how you two aren’t completely dead right now,” she said, fanning herself with the collar of her shirt. She paused, her eyes drifting around the wide corridor they had entered. Pale light filtered through the papered windows, painting the walls in soft patterns. “Actually…” She glanced at Rumi, curiosity sparking across her face. “You know, I never really got a proper look around. You’ve been living here for years, right, Rumi? You’ve gotta give us the grand tour!”

Rumi stiffened mid-step, blinking at her as if Zoey had just asked her to juggle knives. “Grand tour?”

“Yeah.” Zoey spun on her heel to face her, walking backward now with a grin. “You know. Show us all the cool stuff. I’ve seen, like, two rooms. And I swear this place is way bigger than it looks from outside.”

Mira groaned, dragging her hand down her face. “Seriously? What are we, middle schoolers on a field trip? Next you’re gonna ask her to be our tour guide with one of those little flags.”

Zoey ignored her, eyes still trained on Rumi. “Come on. Please?”

Rumi’s gaze flicked between them. The pleading spark in Zoey’s face, the scowl etched into Mira’s. She had no idea how to handle either. She was used to orders, routines, and keeping up appearances. Still, Celine had always told her not to shy away from responsibility, no matter how small. And making sure the group got along was a responsibility too.

Her arms folded neatly across her chest, her posture straightening out of habit. “Sure,” she said at last, though the word came out stiff, clipped. “But don’t expect much. It’s just a house.”

Zoey lit up. “Perfect! I love ‘just a house.’”

Mira muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘kill me now’, but she didn’t peel away either. She trailed after them, hands stuffed into her pockets, her expression locked somewhere between boredom and disdain.

The hallway stretched long and dim, lined with sliding doors and latticed windows that let in slants of light. The air smelled faintly of cedar, the walls carrying the kind of silence only a place lived in for decades could hold.

“This wing is mostly for training,” Rumi began, her tone slipping into something rehearsed, formal, like she was reciting from memory. She gestured stiffly to the first door on the right. “Storage. For weapons, practice equipment, uniforms.” She paused, then added flatly, “Don’t touch anything without permission.”

Zoey peered inside anyway when Rumi slid the door open, her jaw dropping at the neat racks of wooden staffs and the faint gleam of real blades resting on stands further back. “Ohhh my god. Okay, this is way cooler than my gym back home!”

Rumi cleared her throat, sliding the door shut again, her motions precise. “Next is the meditation room. You’re not allowed food or shoes in there.”

Zoey hummed, nodding along like she was cataloging each rule in her head. Mira, however, leaned casually against the opposite wall, her gaze bored. “Thrilling. Truly riveting stuff.”

Rumi’s shoulders stiffened, but she pressed on, her voice remaining even. “The dining room and common area is down this way. Celine should be calling us soon for lunch.”

“Lunch, yes!” Zoey perked up, bouncing slightly as she kept pace. “Okay, what’s on the menu today? Like, is it normal? Or, like… fancy trainee food?”

Rumi blinked at her. She searched for an answer, her mouth opening, then closing again. “...Normal food,” she said finally, though the words sounded slightly unsure for such a simple question.

Zoey grinned. “Good. Because I was worried I was gonna have to eat some weird protein sludge or something.”

For a fleeting moment, Rumi’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile tugging before she schooled it back into her usual restraint. They kept walking, past the spacious living room and into another hallway.

Rumi pivoted on her heel and gestured to another sliding door as they walked. “The library.”

Zoey perked up instantly. “Library? Like- An actual library?”

Rumi smiled at the younger girl's excitement and slid the door open, revealing rows of shelves that stretched higher than seemed possible for a single room. The scent of old paper drifted out, mixed with the faint musk of polished wood. Scrolls and books filled the walls in orderly fashion, and the far side of the room was bathed in light from tall windows.

Zoey gasped, stepping inside like she’d found a hidden treasure. “This is amazing! Do you have, like, demon hunter manuals in here? Secret history books? Ooh, what about spells and stuff?”

Mira followed slowly, eyes flicking across the shelves without interest. “Yay. Homework.”

“It’s not a toy,” Rumi said, but her voice lacked its usual edge. She lingered by the doorway, arms crossed. “Some of these are archives. Records of hunts going back centuries. There are training manuals, demonology indexes, and historical accounts. Celine doesn't-” she hesitated for a moment. “We're not allowed in here.”

Mira rolled her eyes. “Oh, thank god. I thought we’d be stuck here forever.”

Zoey ignored her, tracing her fingers over the spines without actually touching them. “I could live here,” she said dreamily. “Like, just disappear for a week with a blanket and some snacks.”

Rumi blinked at her, the image so foreign it tugged at her composure. “That… is not what the library is for.”

Zoey shot her a playful grin. “Yeah, but doesn’t it sound nice?”

Rumi hesitated, then turned abruptly. “Come on. There’s more to see.”

The three of them moved on, the halls widening again as they turned another corner. A faint breeze drifted through an open window, carrying with it the sound of cicadas from the garden outside.

“This is the east wing,” Rumi explained, her tone slipping back into formal recital. “Bedrooms, baths, and Celine's office.” 

Zoey smirked, satisfied, then glanced around again. “So… Any secret rooms? Hidden training chambers? A spooky attic?”

“There is no attic,” Rumi said flatly.

“Booo.” Zoey pouted. “You should work on that. Every good creepy house needs an attic.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the creak of floorboards underfoot. Then, quietly, almost too soft to catch, Rumi muttered, “There’s a cellar.”

Zoey’s head whipped toward her. “Wait, what?”

Mira raised an eyebrow. “Did she just admit to having a dungeon?”

Rumi’s jaw tightened, clearly regretting speaking at all. “It’s a storage cellar. Not a dungeon.”

Zoey clasped her hands dramatically. “Still counts.”

Rumi smiled again, this time more noticeable. She was about to respond when suddenly the ringing of a bell. 

“What is that?” Mira asked, turning towards the sound.

“Celine. Lunch is probably ready.” Rumi explained, matter-of-factly. She turned towards where they had just come from before walking back to the dining hall, hoping the other two would follow.

Zoey practically skipped after Rumi, her excitement making the stiff hallway feel a little warmer. “Finally! Food! I am so ready for a nice meal after that morning. My arms feel like jelly.” She stretched dramatically as they walked, earning a quick, unimpressed glance from Mira.

Mira, on the other hand, dragged her feet behind them, arms crossed, her scowl deepening with each step. “I’m not ready for anything except a nap,” she muttered. “And I doubt Celine is going to let me sleep through lunch.”

By the time they reached the dining hall, the smell of fresh food had thickened in the air, more vivid now than the faint trace they’d caught earlier. The table was already set. Steaming bowls, small dishes of different kinds of greens, and rice served in neat ceramic.

Celine was there, placing the last plate onto the table. She glanced up at them with a quiet smile that was neither surprised nor hurried, as though she had known the exact moment they would arrive. “Perfect timing.”

Zoey brightened instantly, sliding into her seat with a dramatic sigh of relief. “I swear, I’m burning, like, a thousand calories every second in this place. Food might actually save my life right now.”

Rumi sat down more quietly. Across from her, Mira dropped into her spot with none of that grace, one elbow on the table, her chin propped in her palm as though simply being awake was a chore

“Eat,” Celine said simply, gesturing to the dishes. She took her own seat at the head of the table but didn’t move to serve herself until the girls had started.

Zoey wasted no time, scooping a spoonful of rice and vegetables into her plate and immediately digging in. “Okay, yup, that’s amazing.” She shot a look across the table at Rumi. “You’ve been eating like this every day?”

Rumi lowered her gaze to her bowl, but not before her lips tugged into the faintest curve. “It’s nothing special,” she said, though the way she handled her chopsticks spoke to how ingrained the ritual was for her..

Mira stabbed a piece of grilled eggplant with her chopsticks and chewed slowly, almost defiantly, as though daring the food to be disappointing. When it wasn’t, her expression didn’t shift, but she reached for another piece anyway.

For a moment, the only sound was the quiet clatter of dishes. Then Zoey broke that quiet rhythm, her voice light but curious. “So… this is basically your house, right, Rumi? Like, where you actually grew up?”

Rumi blinked at her, caught off guard by the bluntness of the question. “Yes. Celine decided to move here when I was six.”

Zoey tilted her head, glancing between Rumi and Celine, chopsticks paused mid-air. “Wow… I can’t imagine being a kid here. Where do you even play?”

Rumi hesitated, her hand tightening slightly on her bowl. “I didn’t play much as a kid,” she said, as if it was the most ordinary statement in the world.

Mira huffed under her breath. “Of course you didn’t.”

Zoey frowned, glancing between them. “That’s… kinda sad.”

Rumi looked down at her food. “It’s necessary.”

The weight of her words hung in the air, soft but final. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Zoey, never one to let silence win, leaned forward with a grin. “Well, for the record? If this were my house, I would’ve totally claimed the library as my personal fort. Snacks, books, maybe a beanbag chair or two. Bam. Perfect childhood.”

Mira couldn’t help but smirk at her. “You’re such a nerd.”

Celine’s eyes travelled to Rumi, her smile had vanished and was replaced instead with a disapproving frown. “You showed them the library?”

Rumi visibly tensed for a split second, then she fixed her posture and turned towards her aunt. She knew the library was supposed to be off limits, Celine had told her this time and time again. Even she was only allowed in there a handful of times in the years she’s spent in this house. “I was simply showing Mira and Zoey around. I thought it would be a good quality time activity,” she spoke with rehearsed composure in her tone, “I already told them we’re not allowed inside.”

Celine waited a few long beats before nodding her head and humming in response to Rumi’s explanation. Mira snuck a few glances between the two, finding the exchange odd and uncomfortably familiar.

Mira broke the silence this time, dropping her chopsticks onto her empty bowl with a sharp clack. “So what now? More training?”

Celine shook her head. “Not until this afternoon. You have a few hours. Rest, if you wish. Or use the time to get to know each other better.”

Zoey perked up at that, eyes lighting with mischief. “Ohhh, I have an amazing idea!”

Mira turned to her with a teasing, small smirk. “Really? Just one?”

“Ok, maybe more like 34 ideas. But they’re all great!” The younger girl cheered excitedly, eyes twinkling as she glanced between the two of them.

Rumi, who had been sitting with her back straight and her hands folded neatly in her lap, found herself watching Zoey with something she couldn’t quite name. The brightness in the younger girl’s eyes was so unrestrained, so utterly uncalculated, that it felt foreign in this house where every movement had a purpose. Against her own better judgment, a quiet sound slipped from her chest. A quiet laugh, barely there, but it softened her features for the briefest moment.

Zoey’s grin widened instantly, triumphant. “Ha! She laughed! You heard it, right? Mira, you heard it?”

Mira arched her brow, unimpressed. “If that’s what counts as laughter, then yeah. Sure.” But there was no heat in her tone, only a faint amusement that she didn’t bother hiding.

Rumi schooled her expression back into neutrality, but the faintest warmth still lingered around her eyes. “Eat properly,” she said, deflecting with the only weapon she trusted, discipline. “You’ll need your strength for later."

Zoey saluted with her chopsticks before stuffing the last bite of rice into her mouth. “Yes, ma’am!” she mumbled around it, making Mira roll her eyes and Celine shake her head, half disapproving, half fondly.

The rest of the meal passed in a kind of uneasy, almost fragile peace. Zoey chattering about little things, Mira interjecting with sarcasm, and Rumi caught somewhere in between, listening more than speaking but not withdrawing entirely.

When the bowls were cleared and Celine excused herself to prepare for the afternoon training, the girls lingered in the dining room only a few minutes longer before leaving the dining hall together, the heavy heat of midday pressing down through the windows.

By the time the cicadas outside had grown louder, their chorus rising with the sun at its highest point, the three of them had moved to the living room. The wide, open space carried a lazy sort of quiet. Mira sprawled across the neat couch, head tipped back, one arm draped over her eyes as though sleep might claim her any second. Zoey sat cross-legged on the carpet nearby, fiddling with the pages of a worn notebook that appeared as if it had survived a tornado, while Rumi stood by the window, her gaze fixed outward on the flowers in the front garden.

It was the kind of quiet moment one would expect to be shared by a group of friends, not a trio of misfits brought together for some sort of magical destiny. Still, the comforting atmosphere was undeniably there, though fragile and prone to snapping at any sudden tug.