A Demon's Curiosity: Part 2 (Patreon)

Honmoon’s POV

The Honmoon had an issue.

It was a very serious issue, deserving of careful consideration.

Where, exactly, should it put the lost child?

Locations were not one-to-one between the Demon Realm and the Human Realm. Crossing points responded to intent, memory, and whatever spiritual paths had been worn thin over the centuries. Rumi had supplied the determination to cross. The Honmoon could decide where she emerged.

That left it with far too many wonderful choices.

It could bring her to the mountains, where morning mist softened the valleys and the oldest songs still lingered in stone. Rumi might find the quiet familiar.

Or maybe to the sea. Everyone deserved to see the sea for the first time.

Or it could place her near Ryu and reunite mother and daughter immediately. The Honmoon brightened at the thought—then dimmed. A reunion after centuries deserved more care than dropping Rumi through a glowing wall without warning. Celine was surrounded by cameras, people, and several officials who would react poorly if a strange young woman appeared during a press conference.

Ryu was resting. Mira was practicing. Zoey was—

The Honmoon paused.

Zoey was awake. Zoey was nearby. Zoey loved people, noise, color, food, music, and almost everything else the Human Realm had to offer. She would know how to welcome someone who had never seen any of it.

Perfect!

The Honmoon opened a path above central Seoul, where the city seemed most alive.

Rumi’s POV

Jinu had told Rumi hundreds of stories about the Human Realm.

He spoke of his village and the kingdom he had once served. He described market streets crowded with merchants, roads winding between rice fields, and the way every season changed the land. When he was in a good mood, he could talk for hours.

Rumi had listened to every word for entirely practical, completely non-personal reasons.

Naturally.

She knew the Human Realm would be brighter than home and crowded with far more people. She also knew its buildings had changed, though Jinu tended to become vague whenever she asked how much.

She had thought she was prepared.

She was wrong.

Rumi stepped out of the Honmoon onto a flat roof—and discovered an impossible amount of empty air beyond its edge. She froze.

Wind pulled at her sleeves and long purple hair. Slowly, carefully, she approached the low wall around the rooftop and peered over.

Her jaw dropped. The ground was so very far away.

In the Demon Realm, no one built upward unless they had wings, a death wish, or a deep desire to prove something. Gwi-Ma’s black pyramid was the tallest structure most demons ever saw, and Rumi had only glimpsed it from a great distance.

The tower beneath her made it look like a child’s toy.

And it was not alone.

Buildings rose in every direction, great cliffs of steel and glass packed together until the streets between them resembled narrow riverbeds. More towers stood beyond those, and more beyond those, fading into the morning haze. Lights glittered from windows despite the growing dawn. Roads crossed above other roads. A long silver shape slid between the buildings on a bridge, moving faster than any wagon Rumi had ever imagined.

“Jinu,” she whispered in disbelief, “you are terrible at explaining things.”

Something warm touched the back of her neck.

Rumi spun with a hiss, claws half-unsheathed—and stopped.

A great yellow light was rising beyond the city.

For several seconds, she could only stare. “Is that the sun?” she asked in awe.

Of course Rumi knew what the sun was. She had seen drawings. She had read descriptions. Jinu had told her how it warmed your face and painted the sky at sunrise.

None of that had prepared her for this.

The Demon Realm existed in endless twilight. Gwi-Ma could set the sky burning when he was angry, but his light was red, harsh, and hungry. This light spilled over everything without demanding anything in return. It caught on a thousand windows, turning the city gold. It warmed Rumi’s face and made the whole enormous world seem to wake at once.

Rumi stared until her eyes watered.

Only then did she notice faint blue-gold lines glimmering around the rooftop. The Honmoon pulsed with unmistakable amusement.

Rumi wiped her eyes and scowled. “I have never seen it before.”

The light danced brighter.

“It is not funny.”

Another fond pulse.

Rumi pouted. This was what she got for having no friends: she was being teased by a sentient barrier.

Rumi looked over the edge again.

“So, how do I get down?”

The Honmoon went very still.

Then it dimmed in a sheepish little sulk.

Getting down was possible. It was not dignified.

Rumi found a maintenance ladder that ended six floors below the roof, climbed along a ledge to another section, and used her claws twice where the builders had inconsiderately failed to provide handholds. Two quick jumps left her hanging from a metal balcony while an old human woman on the other side of the glass stared at her over a cup of tea.

Rumi smiled weakly.

The old woman closed the curtain.

Eventually, Rumi dropped into an alley between two buildings, landing in a crouch beside several bags of rubbish, and immediately gagged.

The Human Realm, apparently, possessed smells Jinu had chosen not to mention.

Holding her breath, Rumi hurried toward the end of the alley. She stepped onto the street—and stopped all over again.

Seeing the city from above had been astonishing. But standing inside it was like being swallowed.

Metal boxes streamed through the road in both directions, growling and shining beneath the morning light. Some were small enough for a few people. Others were enormous, opening their sides to swallow whole crowds before carrying them away. Lights changed color above the road and all the boxes obeyed without argument.

Screens covered the buildings. They changed from writing to faces to food to more faces, each moving independently. One showed a woman looking directly outward, so enormous that her eyes were taller than Rumi.

Rumi’s lip curled before she could stop it.

Then there were the people.

There were so many people.

They poured from the metal boxes and vanished down stairways. They walked alone and in groups, some slow, some rushing, many staring at little glowing objects in their hands. Conversations overlapped until the words became meaningless. Shoes struck pavement. Doors chimed. Engines growled. Music played from somewhere overhead.

Someone brushed Rumi’s shoulder and continued without looking back. Another nearly walked into her because he was staring at his glowing rectangle.

After several moments, Rumi realized that people were staring and pointing, and her worry skyrocketed. She checked that her claws, ears, markings, and fangs were hidden. They were. Suppressing them made her skin feel too tight, but nothing had slipped.

Why were people looking at her then?

Rumi noticed her reflection in a dark window: long, tangled purple hair; an old-fashioned hanbok; no bag; shoes unsuited to pavement; and a posture so tense that she looked ready for an ambush.

She might look a little unusual, but her disguise remained firmly in place. Rumi did her best to ignore the attention.

The Honmoon shimmered faintly beneath the pavement, its threads pulsing in concern.

“I’m fine,” Rumi muttered.

It pulsed again.

“I need to learn the territory.” Her plan remained viable, but first she needed to understand the area. “Besides, how difficult can it be to find two unusually powerful women in one city?”

The Honmoon’s light did something Rumi chose to interpret as encouragement.

Her best plan was still to find a demon, make enough noise dealing with it, and wait for the Huntresses to appear. Until then, she would explore.

She had survived alone since she was thirteen. She hunted her own food, maintained her territory, and drove away demons much larger than herself.

Blending into a crowd that was not even trying to kill her would be easy.

Thirty minutes later, Rumi was five seconds away from clawing the arm off the next person who touched her.

The sound never stopped. It pressed against her from every direction, too layered to track and too loud to ignore. The air tasted of hot metal, smoke, perfume, food, sweat, and something bitter that burned the back of her throat. Every screen changed before she could decide whether it was a threat. Reflections moved in the glass beside her, and strangers kept entering the edge of her vision.

A man bumped her shoulder while speaking loudly to no one, one hand pressed to his ear.

Rumi growled.

Three women passed in a cloud of sharp floral scent.

Her nose twitched painfully.

A metal box shrieked to a halt. Several others answered with angry blasts of noise.

Her claws slipped free. Rumi forced them back.

She only had to stick to the plan.

A hand caught a lock of her hair.

Rumi whirled.

The young man behind her released it at once. Whatever he saw in her expression drained the color from his face. His friends laughed and pulled him away.

Rumi stood trembling in the center of the pavement, every muscle tight. The Honmoon’s threads brightened beneath her feet.

She could not do this. She could not see, could not think, could not choose which direction was safe. The city was too much and she was trapped in the middle of it—

Someone stepped between Rumi and the crowd.

The pressure vanished.

Not completely. The noise remained, but the stranger’s presence gave it an edge, a point Rumi could focus on. She was short and slight, with black hair arranged in two buns and a bright, open face. She did not reach for Rumi. She merely stood there, blocking the flow of people with her body.

“Hey,” the stranger said gently. “It’s a lot out here, huh?”

Rumi stared at her.

“There’s a quiet café right behind me.” The girl pointed without turning around. “Do you want to get out of the crowd?”

The sensible response was to refuse. Rumi did not know her. Following strangers into enclosed spaces was a terrible survival strategy.

Then another vehicle sounded its horn.

Rumi flinched.

“Yes,” she said immediately.

The girl smiled. “Okay. Stay close.”

She moved through the crowd as if it were water. She never shoved, but people shifted around her anyway. When someone came too close to Rumi, the girl slid between them without appearing to notice what she had done.

For the first time since entering the street, Rumi could breathe.

The café door closed behind them, cutting the city’s roar to a muffled rumble.

Rumi nearly sagged.

The room was warm and dim compared with the street. It smelled of bread, coffee, sugar, and cooked meat. There were still people inside, but they sat in predictable clusters instead of moving in every direction. Best of all, the girl led her to a deep chair in a back corner with a clear view of both exits.

Rumi sank into it, and the chair seemed to swallow her whole.

She decided she loved it.

“Feeling better?” the girl asked.

“Much.” Rumi curled deeper into the cushions. The Honmoon glimmered faintly along the wall beside them, relieved. “Thank you.”

“No problem! I’m Zoey.” She sat across from Rumi, bouncing once in her seat as if she contained more energy than her body could comfortably hold. “Sorry for dragging you in here, but you looked like you were having a really bad time.”

Rumi considered denying it.

“That many people should not be allowed in one place,” she muttered instead.

Zoey laughed—not at her, somehow, but with delighted understanding. “You should see the subway at rush hour.”

“No.” She did not know what a subway was, but the context was sufficiently horrifying. 

The response made Zoey laugh harder. “So, what’s your name?”

Rumi straightened. Right. Names. Conversation. Blending in. “Rumi.”

“Nice to meet you, Rumi.” Zoey said it as if she truly meant it. “Are you visiting Seoul?”

“Yes.”

“From where?”

Rumi’s mind emptied.

Not even an hour in the Human Realm and she had already been defeated by the first question anyone asked her.

“Very far away,” she said carefully.

Zoey waited.

Rumi waited back.

“Okay,” Zoey said at last. She did not push. “First time in a big city?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Zoey’s gaze flicked over her. “Only a little.”

Rumi narrowed her eyes.

“Okay, a lot,” Zoey admitted. “But that’s fine! Everyone’s new once.”

She picked up a small black rectangle from the table. It lit beneath her fingers.

Rumi’s attention fixed on it. Why did everyone have one of those things?

Zoey noticed. “Do you need to call somebody?”

“What?”

“A friend? Family? Whoever you’re staying with?”

“No.” Rumi hesitated. “I came by myself.”

Zoey’s cheerful expression folded into concern. “You came to Seoul alone, without a phone or a bag?”

Rumi bristled. “I have lived by myself for most of my life, and I have done very well.”

Since she was a teenager, she had fed herself, sheltered herself, and defended miles of territory. She refused to be seen as a helpless child in front of the first potential friend she had ever made.

“I’m sure you have.” Zoey raised both hands. “I’m not saying you can’t take care of yourself. Seoul is just… Seoul. It’s easy to get lost even if you grew up here.”

Rumi wanted to argue. Unfortunately, Zoey had found her nearly panicking in the street.

“It is not quite what I anticipated,” she allowed.

“What did you expect?”

Rumi thought of Jinu’s villages and dirt roads and scowled. “Fewer towers.”

“That’s fair.” Zoey grinned. “The towers sneak up on you.”

A person approached their table wearing an apron and handed them two flat books. Rumi accepted hers carefully.

It contained pictures of food.

Beautiful, detailed pictures of food.

Rumi forgot the conversation.

There were thick sandwiches layered with meat and eggs, little cakes glazed in shining colors, bowls of fruit, breads, soups, and drinks topped with cream. She turned the page and found more.

“You okay?” Zoey asked.

“You can choose any of these?”

“If they haven’t sold out.”

“And they make it for you?”

“That’s generally how cafés work.”

Rumi looked toward the counter, where people were exchanging little cards and carrying food away without hunting, cooking, or threatening anyone.

The Human Realm was incredible.

“I don’t have your money,” she admitted reluctantly. She had not even considered needing it.

“I can buy some for you.”

Rumi looked up sharply. “That is not necessary.”

“No, but you look really curious, and I have money.” Zoey shrugged as if it meant nothing.

Zoey was right. Rumi was very, very curious. “I will repay you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I will.” She needed Zoey to understand this. Gifts created obligations. Debts invited control. “Tell me what you need hunted, carried, repaired, or frightened away.”

Zoey blinked.

Ah. That might be a bit much. “I mean—work. I can work.”

“Right.” Zoey studied her for a moment, then smiled more softly. “How about you let me buy breakfast, and someday you can buy me breakfast. No hunting required.”

That sounded like a reasonable trade.

“Agreed.”

With Zoey’s help, Rumi ordered something called a bulgogi-and-egg sandwich, two meat buns, and a hot chocolate. Zoey added a pastry before Rumi could stop her.

When the food arrived, Rumi took one cautious bite of the sandwich.

She closed her eyes.

It was warm. The bread was soft, the meat sweet and savory, the egg rich. None of it had needed to be chased through thorn bushes first.

“Good?” Zoey asked.

Rumi nodded rapidly and took a second bite.

Zoey hid a smile behind her drink.

The hot chocolate required more caution. Rumi sniffed it, touched the foam with one finger, and tasted it. Her eyes widened.

“What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“Jinu has betrayed me.”

“Who’s Jinu?”

Rumi froze with the cup halfway to her mouth. “My brother.”

“He never gave you hot chocolate?”

“He told me about farming, taxes, boats, and plumbing. He never mentioned this.” Rumi took another drink and glared into the cup. “His priorities are terrible.”

Zoey laughed so loudly that someone at the next table looked over.

Conversation became easier after that.

Zoey showed Rumi how her phone worked. Rumi understood the idea of a device carrying a voice over distance; demons had stranger methods. What she did not understand was why the same object also held maps, music, books, pictures, messages, games, money, and apparently the answer to almost any question.

“So it is a library, map, messenger, and purse,” Rumi said, counting on her fingers.

“And camera.”

The screen suddenly showed Rumi’s own face.

She recoiled with a hiss.

Zoey nearly dropped the phone. “Sorry! Sorry. Front camera.”

Rumi leaned forward again, suspicious. Her image copied her. She knew mirrors. She did not like mirrors, but she knew them. This reflection was trapped in a little piece of glass, and Zoey could make it vanish with a touch.

“It doesn’t keep anything unless I tell it to,” Zoey promised.

“Why would you tell it to?”

“For photos. Memories.” Zoey swiped through several pictures: herself making faces, food arranged on plates, a tall girl with long dark hair glaring at the camera, the two of them on a stage beneath bright lights. “That’s Mira. She’s my partner.”

The Honmoon brightened so suddenly along the wall that Rumi glanced at it.

Zoey followed her gaze. “What?”

“Nothing.” Rumi looked back at the phone. The tall girl held herself like someone ready for a fight, even while wearing glittering stage clothes. “She looks dangerous.”

Looking dangerous was a very useful trait to have.

Zoey beamed. “She’ll love that.”

“Partner in what?”

“Music, mostly. We sing and dance.” Zoey studied her. “Do you really not know us?”

Rumi froze. “Should I?” Had she made yet another mistake?

Zoey watched her for a moment before leaning back with a smile. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Here—this is a video of us.” She brought up a clip with the sound low. Zoey and Mira moved together so precisely that they seemed to share a thought. There was space in the routine—only for an instant, a turn that opened before the two closed ranks again.

Rumi could not have explained why that empty space bothered her.

“You’re good,” Rumi said sincerely. If this was what they usually did, she could understand why people enjoyed watching them.

“Thanks.” Zoey’s smile softened with real pride. “We’ve practiced forever. Ryu and Celine started training us when we were kids.”

Both names tugged faintly at something inside Rumi, and she felt… Something.

“Do you know them?” Zoey asked, tilting her head.

“... No.” Rumi pressed one hand lightly to her chest. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you saw them in an advertisement once?” Zoey speculated. “They’ve been in a few—although I’d be offended if you recognized them and not me and Mira.” 

Rumi frowned. “What’s an advertisement?”

Zoey took the question in stride. “It’s like those giant screens outside. They’re usually trying to convince you of something, or trying to convince you to buy things.”

“By making a woman’s face taller than a building?”

“It got your attention.”

Rumi frowned. “That does not mean I intend to buy anything.”

“Advertisers are optimists.”

Rumi remained unconvinced, but she had other questions. “And the metal boxes?”

“Cars. They take people where they need to go.”

“Why not walk?”

Zoey pulled up a map and showed Rumi where they were. Then she began shrinking the image beneath her fingers. “Because Seoul is this big.”

“All of that is Seoul?” Rumi’s stomach sank.

“Pretty much.”

Rumi looked from the tiny map to the windows. Finding the Huntresses suddenly seemed less like a simple afternoon task and more like searching a mountain for one particular pebble.

“You really did come without a plan, didn’t you?” Zoey asked, not unkindly.

“I had a plan,” she protested weakly.

“What was it?”

Find a demon. Fight it. Wait for two heavily armed superhumans to arrive.

“It needs revision,” Rumi said.

Zoey nodded solemnly. “That happens to the best plans.”

To avoid further judgment, Rumi ate the pastry. The sweet filling quickly made her forget the conversation.

“Jinu is a terrible brother,” she decided.

“Because of pastry?”

“Because of a pattern of concealment.”

Zoey laughed again.

By the time their plates were empty, Zoey had somehow managed to turn the conversation to Rumi. Zoey had learned that Rumi came from a remote community, had been raised mostly by her older brother, possessed an alarming amount of practical wilderness knowledge, and regarded the (newly learned) concept of social media with the same distrust she gave mirrors.

It was not the complete truth. It was, however, closer than Rumi had expected to give anyone.

“So,” Zoey said, leaning her chin on one hand, “what exactly brought you to Seoul?”

Rumi looked down at her empty cup.

She could not say that she was searching for demon hunters so she could recruit them into an alliance against the demon king.  

“I’m looking for someone,” she finally admitted.

“Your family?”

Rumi’s head snapped up.

Zoey winced. “Sorry. You mentioned your brother, but no one else, and you looked… I don’t know. Forget I asked.”

Rumi could have lied, but… She did not want to.

She could not mention the Huntresses. Not yet. But she could admit the more personal reason for coming.

“Maybe,” she admitted. “I don’t know if she is alive. I don’t know what she looks like. I only remember her voice.”

The Honmoon’s light went soft around them.

Zoey did not offer empty assurances. She only said, “That’s a hard search.”

“Yes.” Rumi folded her hands. “I remember her voice and feeling safe. That’s all.”

“I’m sorry.” Zoey hesitated. “Mira and I meet a lot of people. Maybe we could help you figure out where to start.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet,” Zoey admitted. “But Seoul has to be less impossible with three people looking. If I learn anything, I can call—” Zoey stopped and looked at Rumi’s empty hands. “Right. No phone.”

“I could return here,” Rumi suggested.

“That could work, but Seoul is going to eat you alive if you keep walking around dressed like you escaped a historical drama.”

Rumi looked down at her hanbok. “There is something wrong with my clothes?” She had chosen some of her best.

“No, nothing wrong! They’re beautiful.” Zoey reached toward the embroidered sleeve, stopping before she touched it. “They’re also several hundred years out of everyday fashion.”

“... Oh.”

Jinu’s betrayals continued to accumulate.

Zoey glanced at the time on her phone. “There’s a little clothing shop around the corner. We could get you something less noticeable. If you want.”

“I cannot let you buy more for me.”

“Then it goes on the breakfast debt. One future breakfast and one future shopping trip.”

Rumi considered the offer. “That is a very imprecise system of accounting.”

“It’s called friendship.”

The word struck harder than it should have.

Rumi looked at Zoey. “Are we friends?”

Zoey’s expression softened. “I’d like to be.”

Something warm rose in Rumi’s chest. She swallowed a purr before it escaped.

“I would like that too.”

The Honmoon shone beneath both of them, practically vibrating with happiness.

The clothing shop was quieter than the street but filled with mirrors, which Rumi carefully sidestepped.

Zoey looked from her to the nearest mirror. “You know you don’t have anything to worry about, right? You’re really pretty.”

Rumi shook her head. “Things can travel through them.”

Zoey accepted this with remarkable calm. “Bad things?”

“Usually.” Theoretically, something friendly could emerge. Rumi’s experience suggested otherwise.

“Okay.” She walked into the shop, spoke to the clerk, and somehow arranged for a fitting room with its mirror covered by a curtain. She then stationed herself outside it and passed clothes over the door one item at a time.

Rumi rejected the first pair of trousers because they restricted her knees, the second because the fabric would tear during a chase, and the third because it had no useful pockets.

“You really think about chasing people a lot,” Zoey observed from the other side of the curtain.

“Not people,” Rumi corrected. “Prey.” Sometimes demons. Most of the time, dinner.

There was a short silence.

“That is not more reassuring.”

Rumi eventually chose dark cargo pants, a loose shirt, sturdy shoes, and a purple hooded jacket large enough to conceal her shape if her control slipped. Zoey added a cap and a backpack.

When Rumi emerged, Zoey circled her with a critical expression.

“You look good.”

“I look like everyone else.”

“That was the point.”

Rumi tested the shoes with a small jump. They were light and gripped the floor well.

“I could hunt in these.”

Zoey leaned against a rack. “You know, I’m starting to think ‘hunting’ is not a metaphor for you.”

Rumi smiled without showing her teeth. “I like to hunt.”

“Well, maybe Mira and I can join you one day.” Zoey flexed one slim arm. “We train every day. I’m sure we can keep up.”

Rumi inspected the arm and then Zoey’s stance.

“You doubt me.”

“Yes.”

Zoey crossed her arms with a dramatic gasp. “Rude.”

Perhaps she should not judge so harshly. The Yuki-onna from the mountains were slight of build, and they hunted just fine.

And Rumi could imagine it.

Zoey would not overpower large prey, but she was quick. Rumi had seen the way she moved through the crowd, always finding the gap before it opened. Give her a spear or a bow and she could harry something from the side, turning it whenever it tried to escape. Rumi would run it down and tackle it. Together, they could drive it into—

An empty space opened in the image.

A third hunter should have been there, moving opposite Zoey. Someone strong enough to close the circle and force the prey toward Rumi.

The thought was so pleasant that a purr almost escaped before Rumi caught it.

And so impossible that the warmth quickly faded.

Zoey was an ordinary person. She could not keep pace with a demon, and Rumi would never wish Gwi-Ma’s corruption on her merely to make the fantasy real.

“What?” Zoey asked.

“Nothing.” Rumi adjusted her new backpack. “It was a nice thought.”

They started back toward the café because Zoey had declared that changing an entire life required dessert. 

Rumi was beginning to suspect Zoey used food to solve most problems.

She approved.

As they walked, Zoey glanced over the new clothes. “So, I know I forced you into shopping, but you’ve got somewhere to stay and put them, right?” 

Rumi hesitated for a moment. “I can find somewhere.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

“I’ve slept outside before.” Rumi shrugged, not bothered in the slightest at the thought. 

Zoey looked considerably more bothered. 

“Maybe I can call Celine? Or find a hotel for you?” Zoey tried. 

Rumi frowned. “You’ve already paid for a meal and clothes,” she pointed out, not liking the idea of accruing more debt from her new friend. “I’m sure I can find a place to sleep on my own.” 

They returned to the café and had just sat down with a shared slice of cake when a bitter scent slid beneath the coffee and sugar. 

Ash.

Sulfur.

Rumi’s attention sharpened.

A demon.

No—more than one. The traces were fresh but spread throughout the café. They had come while she and Zoey were shopping, circling the room and passing close to their table.

The scent lingered most heavily around Zoey’s seat. Whatever the demons wanted, they had singled her out. 

Anger burned through Rumi. A furious growl pressed against her throat.

The Honmoon suddenly shuddered.

This was different. Not the gentle pulses Rumi had felt all morning, but a sudden wrench of distress, as if something far away had torn.

Zoey went rigid.

Rumi’s claws nearly unsheathed. “What is wrong?”

Zoey glanced toward the windows. Her smile returned too quickly. “Nothing. I just remembered I have to take care of something.”

“Now?”

“It’s kind of an emergency.” Zoey gathered her phone and bag, movements quick and practiced. “I’m really sorry. I want to talk more—seriously, I do. I’ll come right back.”

That was convenient. Too convenient.

Rumi looked toward the hidden door again. “All right.”

“Will you stay here?” Zoey implored, looking at her with wide eyes. “Please? It shouldn’t take long.”

Rumi could hardly hunt the demons while Zoey remained beside her.

“I promise I will stay in the café until you return.”

Zoey sagged in relief. “Thank you. And when I get back, we’re gonna talk about a hotel room, got it?”

Zoey vanished into the crowd at a run before Rumi could protest that last part.

Rumi waited ten seconds.

Then she stood, carefully tracking the scent to a door behind the counter. 

Technically, she was still in the café.

The employees were distracted by the morning rush. Rumi slipped through the service door and entered a narrow corridor lined with shelves, cleaning supplies, and one tall mirror.

Of course there was a mirror.

Two figures stood at the far end. They wore borrowed human shapes and ill-fitting café uniforms, but no one who understood demons would mistake them. Their stillness was wrong. So were their smiles.

One tilted its head a fraction too far. “You can smell us.”

“You are not subtle.” Rumi let her claws slide free. “Why were you watching my friend?”

The second demon glanced at the first. “Friend?”

“The girl who was sitting with me.”

“We watch many things.” Its smile widened. “That is what we were sent here to do.”

Spies, then. Long-established ones, already embedded in the Human Realm. They were not part of whatever had just wounded the Honmoon.

Rumi stepped closer. “Who sent you?”

Neither answered.

“Fine. Different question.” She smiled, allowing her fangs to return. “Where are the Huntresses?”

Both demons blinked, actually looking caught off guard.

Then the first demon burst into laughter. “Are you joking?”

Rumi seized it by the throat and slammed it into the wall.

“Answer the question.”

The demon’s eyes flicked toward the mirror.

Rumi turned as the second one vanished into the glass.

Its claws emerged from the reflection behind her.

She ducked, caught its wrist, and pulled.

The mirror bulged. The demon shrieked as Rumi dragged it halfway out of its hiding place and drove her shoulder into its chest. Glass exploded across the corridor.

The first demon struck her from behind.

Rumi stumbled through the service door into the kitchen, struck a steel counter, and spun. Staff shouted while a tray crashed. Someone reached for her.

“Out!” Rumi snarled.

Her markings blazed through the disguise on her skin. Both demons burst through the door with claws unsheathed.

That quickly persuaded everyone else.

People fled toward the dining room as both demons leapt at her, their human faces peeling away into smoke, revealing gray skin, blackened eyes, and too many teeth.

Rumi grinned in anticipation.

The city had been confusing. This was simple.

The first demon rushed her. She met it head-on, catching it around the waist, and drove it over a preparation table. Metal folded beneath them. It clawed at her back, but the angle was poor. Rumi ignored the pain, pinned one arm, and buried her claws in its chest.

Black smoke burst across her face.

The second demon stared at her for a moment, judging, and then charged. 

Rumi’s instincts sang.

The demon lunged. Rumi slipped beneath its claws, seized its shoulder, and used its momentum to throw it through the service door. It struck something metal with a loud clang, followed by a fountain of sparks. 

Rumi winced.

The demon rose among the sparks, smoking and furious. “You stupid stray! Do you know who you’re interfering with?”

“There are only so many options.” Rumi growled as she stalked forward, eyeing the sparks carefully. “And you refused to answer my questions.”

It grabbed a pan and hurled it, and Rumi knocked it aside, sending it into the stovetop. Flame rolled upward with a sudden whoosh.

An alarm began to shriek.

…Crap.

“That is your fault,” Rumi informed the demon.

It answered by charging her with a shriek. 

Rumi charged too.

They met beside the burning stove. The demon tried to stop her momentum, but it was accustomed to stealth and had never seen her hunt.

Rumi drove straight through its guard, lifted it from the floor, and carried it into the back wall hard enough to crack tile. Before it could recover, she caught its head between both hands and twisted.

Smoke poured through her fingers.

The body vanished.

For a moment, Rumi stood alone in the ruined kitchen while water began spraying from the ceiling.

The fire alarm continued screaming.

Orange flame crawled across the stovetop toward a hanging cloth.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

Rumi looked toward the front of the café. The customers were gone, chairs fallen over where they had fled, and smoke spread across the ceiling. 

Zoey had asked her to stay until she returned.

Rumi had intended to keep that promise. Unfortunately, the café appeared to be leaving first.

She collected her backpack, folded hanbok, and shopping bags. By the time firefighters entered through the front, Rumi was already climbing the wall in the alley behind the building.

The fire had not spread far, so the firefighters should be able to stop it without much trouble. The damage would be localized. Probably.

For a first day in the Human Realm, Rumi thought that was fairly good.

*

Rumi waited on a nearby rooftop, hoping either Zoey would return or she would see the Huntresses. But the sirens, smoke, and gathering crowd soon became too much, forcing her farther away. She would return tomorrow, once the café was quiet again.

For now, she needed somewhere to sleep.

The roof she chose was much lower than the one where she had arrived, but still high enough to not worry about being disturbed. She had learned from experience.

It stood several streets away from the café, above a quiet building with a sheltered space beside a water tank. Rumi arranged her folded hanbok, new jacket, and shopping bags into the beginnings of a nest, then sat with her back against the wall and watched the city darken.

Except it never became truly dark.

Lights came on one by one until the streets glowed more brightly than parts of the Demon Realm at noon. Signs painted the buildings in red, blue, green, and pink. Vehicles streamed below like rivers of fire.

It should have been overwhelming again.

From the rooftop, with distance and a full stomach, it was beautiful.

Rumi drew her knees to her chest and let herself stare.

She had failed to find the Huntresses. The demons had been too uncooperative to answer a simple question, no Huntress had appeared, and she had lost the first safe place she knew in Seoul.

But it was only the first day.

She had seen the sun.

She had tasted hot chocolate and pastry.

She had learned what a phone was.

And she had made a friend.

Rumi smiled and curled deeper into the fabric.

“Hey, Honmoon?”

Blue-gold lines emerged around the edge of the roof.

“Thank you for letting me cross.” She still did not know why the bane of demonkind had welcomed her, let alone guided and comforted her all day. Perhaps it recognized that she was not loyal to Gwi-Ma. Perhaps it simply had strange judgment. “If there is anything I can do for you, tell me.”

It was always a good idea to acknowledge debts between ancient or magical beings.

The light brightened at once.

Rumi blinked. “You want something?”

The Honmoon pulsed excitedly.

An image touched her mind: three figures standing together, dressed alike, their voices joined as light flowed outward around them.

Rumi was instantly alert. “Are those the Huntresses?”

The Honmoon flashed.

Rumi tried to focus on the image, but it was difficult. The scene shifted, and there were only two Huntresses… But she was there as well, moving and singing alongside them.

Rumi tilted her head.

“You want me to sing?” she guessed.

The light stopped.

For a moment, Rumi received the distinct impression that this was not what it had meant.

Then the Honmoon warmed around her, fond and encouraging.

Close enough, apparently.

Still, Rumi hesitated. Demons sang, but not as the Huntresses did. They used songs to remember territory, victories, prey, and the names of dangerous things. Jinu had taught her a few old village melodies, but those belonged to his first life. She had never sung them in front of anyone.

“I don’t know any of their songs,” Rumi warned.

The Honmoon waited patiently.

“But I know a hunting song.”

The light rippled eagerly.

Rumi looked out over Seoul. She thought of crowded streets, Zoey’s easy smile, the chase through the café, and the third hunter who had appeared in her imagination despite having no face.

Quietly at first, she began to sing.

“Run beneath the rising light,Feet like thunder, hearts in flight.Turn the shadow, close the ring;Find the lost and bring them in.”

Her voice was rough, not used to singing. The first notes wavered. The second line steadied. By the fourth, the melody had caught the rhythm of a chase—the long pursuit, the closing distance, the certainty of companions moving just beyond sight.

The Honmoon gathered every note and wove it into itself.

Mira’s POV

“I can’t believe I lost her.”

Mira rubbed Zoey’s back while the other girl lay face-down across the couch.

“She was right there,” Zoey moaned into a cushion. “Right in front of me. We had breakfast. We went shopping. She agreed we were friends. Then one tiny emergency happens and now we’ll never find her again.”

“A hole being torn through the Honmoon is not a tiny emergency.”

“It was gone before I got there!” Zoey rolled onto her back. “Whoever crossed had already left. Then I ran back and the café was on fire.”

“The kitchen was on fire.”

“That distinction did not help me find Rumi.”

Mira snorted. Still, she understood the frustration. She was a little jealous, if she was honest. Until earlier that day, neither of them had known whether the person they were missing was even alive.

Earlier that day, the Honmoon had blazed with joy, and the empty place Mira had carried for as long as she could remember had suddenly felt close.

Not gone. Just close.

The feeling had always manifested in small, subtle ways. Mira left room for someone in their dances without meaning to. Zoey owned an entire notebook of songs written for three voices.

Ryu and Celine had trained as part of a trio and ended as a pair; Mira and Zoey had trained as a pair while never quite believing they were complete.

“At least you met her,” Mira said. “We know her name. We know what she looks like. That’s more than we knew this morning.” 

“But I didn’t even get her last name.”

“Did she have one?”

Zoey stared at the ceiling with a frustrated pout. “I don’t know. She didn’t have a phone, she thought the front camera might steal her reflection, and she wore a genuine old hanbok into central Seoul. I’m worried she escaped a mountain cult.”

Mira rolled her eyes with fond amusement. “You are always worried someone escaped a cult.”

“One day I’m going to be right, and this time I have overwhelming evidence!” Zoey sat up. “Do you think we’ll have to kidnap her back? Is it kidnapping if she wants to leave? We’d be rescuing her.”

“Let’s speak to Celine before planning a felony.”

“Fine.”

“And Ryu.”

Zoey’s expression softened. “Yeah. Both of them.”

Before Mira could ask what they should do next, the Honmoon lit around the apartment.

Mira and Zoey shared a confused look.

“It’s kind of late for Celine or Ryu to be singing,” Zoey mused as she sat up properly.

“No, it’s not them.” Mira frowned. The melody was almost clumsy. Unpracticed. There was none of Celine’s command in it, nor Ryu’s careful grace. It was raw and strange, carrying images rather than words: feet striking earth, breath burning in the lungs, the joy of motion, the tightening of a circle.

And beneath it all, a fierce, startled happiness.

Zoey gasped delightedly. “Rumi’s singing!”

Was this the first time the Honmoon had carried her voice? Was this truly the first time she had sung for anyone? 

Mira did not ask how she knew. The empty space in every dance no longer felt empty. Someone was singing from it.

Mira hummed along, letting her thoughts flow the way Ryu had taught. “It’s… a chase?”

“She said she liked hunting.” Zoey’s smile grew wider with every note. “A lot, actually.”

“Of course she did.” It was not the usual sort of hobby, but Mira was not opposed.

Mira hummed the melody back. Zoey joined her on the next phrase, finding a harmony as naturally as breathing.

Across the city, the third voice hesitated—then rose to meet them through the Honmoon.

For the first time, the song had no empty space.

Author’s Notes:

Rumi and the Honmoon:

Rumi: “Is there anything you need?”

Honmoon: “Yes! Join your sisters as Huntresses!”

Rumi: “You… want me to sing?”

Honmoon: “No, I… close enough. Yes dear, I would love to hear you sing.” 

Also the Honmoon: I love my chosen Huntresses lots and lots… but sometimes I worry that they’re a little slow.