LecheFlan

---- MIRA POV ----

The apartment was too quiet.

It had been weeks since Valentine’s weekend — weeks of soft mornings, late-night laughter, and the kind of easy love that made me believe we’d finally found some kind of peace. But tonight, the silence between us felt heavy. Wrong.

I stood at the kitchen counter, staring at my phone like it might bite me. The missed call from my mother still sat on the screen, timestamped from three hours ago. I hadn’t answered. I hadn’t even told Zoey or Rumi she’d called.

I should have deleted the notification. Instead, I’d been carrying it around like a live grenade.

Zoey walked in from the living room, hair still damp from her shower, wearing one of my old hoodies. She stopped when she saw me.

“You’ve been weird since we got home,” she said, not unkindly, but there was an edge to her voice. “What’s going on?”

I forced a small smile. “Nothing. Just tired.”

Zoey’s eyes narrowed. She knew me too well. “Mira.”

I hated that tone. The one that said she could see straight through my carefully built walls.

“It’s really nothing,” I said, turning away to put the dishes away. “My mom called earlier. That’s all.”

Zoey was quiet for a beat. Too quiet.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Her voice was low. “You didn’t even mention it?”

I shrugged, keeping my back to her. “It wasn’t important.”

“Bullshit.” The word landed sharp. “You’ve been off all night. Tense. Distant. And now I find out your parents called and you were just going to pretend it didn’t happen?”

Before Zoey could push further, we heard Rumi’s voice from the hallway.

“Hey guys, I can’t find my favourite hoodie!”

A second later, Rumi walked into the kitchen wrapped in nothing but a white towel, hair still damp from the shower, water droplets sliding down her collarbone and over the soft pink patterns glowing faintly beneath her skin.

My mouth went dry.

I couldn’t help the slow smirk that spread across my face.

“Well, well,” I said, leaning back against the counter, eyes shamelessly dragging down her body. “Look at you, walking around like that. Trying to distract us Rums? Because it’s working.”

Rumi froze mid-step, cheeks instantly flushing a deep, adorable pink that spread all the way down her neck. Her patterns flared brighter for a second before she clutched the towel tighter against her chest.

“Mira!” she squeaked, voice pitching higher as she tried (and failed) to look stern. “I’m literally in a towel!”

“Exactly,” I teased, unable to stop grinning. “And you look unfairly good in it. I’m trying to have a serious conversation here and you come out looking like that? Cruel and unusual punishment.”

Zoey, despite still being annoyed with me, let out a low whistle. “She’s got a point, baby. That towel is doing a lot of heavy lifting… and not much covering.”

Rumi’s face went even redder. She shifted on her feet, one hand gripping the towel at her chest, the other tugging uselessly at the hem like she could make it longer by sheer willpower.

“You two are the worst,” she mumbled, clearly flustered, but there was a shy little smile tugging at her lips. “I’m going to go put on actual clothes before you both start drooling.”

She turned to leave, but not before I caught her wrist gently and pulled her back just enough to press a quick, teasing kiss to her bare shoulder.

“Stay like this a little longer,” I murmured against her skin. “It’s a good look on you.”

Rumi made a small, embarrassed noise and lightly swatted my arm, cheeks burning. “You’re impossible.”

She finally escaped down the hall, towel clutched tight, muttering something about “horny girlfriends” under her breath. The second she was out of sight, Zoey turned back to me, the brief moment of levity fading.

The tension rushed back in.

“You can’t keep deflecting forever, Mira,” Zoey said, voice quieter now but no less serious. “Especially not about your parents.”

I looked down at the sink, jaw tight.

The brief warmth from teasing Rumi was already slipping away, replaced by that familiar heavy weight in my chest.

“Can I just have a little time please?” I asked, finally meeting her eyes. My voice came out softer than I intended, almost pleading. “Truth be told… I don’t even know what they want.”

Zoey stared at me for a long moment. I could see the frustration and hurt warring across her face. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, exhaling sharply through her nose.

“Fine,” she said eventually, though it clearly wasn’t fine. “But please don’t carry it alone once you find out. We are here for you, just as you are for us.”

She turned and walked out of the kitchen without another word, heading back toward the bedrooms.

The silence she left behind felt louder than any argument.

I gripped the edge of the counter, staring at the dishes I’d been pretending to wash. My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped a band around my ribs and was slowly pulling it tighter. I hated this — hated how easily my parents could still crawl under my skin, hated how it made me push Zoey away when all she wanted was to help.

---- ZOEY POV ----

God, why do both my girlfriends not ask for help when they need it? I mean, like I know sometimes I keep things to myself, but I mostly don’t. At least I try. But Mira? She turns into a fortress the second her parents’ names come up. And Rumi… Rumi still tries to carry everything alone even after we’ve told her a thousand times she doesn’t have to.

I stormed down the hallway, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. The frustration was burning in my chest like acid. I hated fighting with them. I hated even more that it always seemed to circle back to the same shit — walls going up, doors slamming shut, both of them pretending they were fine while I stood on the outside watching.

I stopped in my bedroom, hands on my hips, trying to breathe through it.

A soft sound behind me made me turn. Rumi was standing there in my hoodie, sleeves too long, looking small and worried. She’d clearly just come out of the shower, hair still damp, and she was glancing between me and the kitchen with confusion written all over her face.

“Zoey…?” she started, voice gentle but uncertain. “What’s going on? I heard raised voices…”

I shook my head, trying to soften my expression for her. “I’m not mad at you, Rums. I’m just… tired.” I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. “Tired of watching her shut down every time they call. Tired of her acting like we’re going to love her less if she’s not perfect. Tired of both of you thinking you have to handle everything alone.”

Rumi blinked, still clearly trying to catch up. “Wait… her parents called?” She looked toward the kitchen, then back at me, brows furrowed. “Mira didn’t say anything about that. Is she okay?”

I let out a bitter laugh. “She says she’s okay. She always says she’s okay.”

Rumi stepped closer, one hand reaching out to rest on my arm. She still looked lost, like she was trying to read the full story from the tension in the air. “Do you want me to talk to her? Or… should I just give her space? I don’t want to make it worse.”

I pulled her into a hug, burying my face in her damp hair for a second. She smelled like our shampoo and warmth and home.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled against her. “I just hate when she does this. I hate feeling like I have to fight my way past her walls every single time something hard comes up.”

Rumi hugged me back tightly, but I could feel the worry radiating off her. She still didn’t have the full picture, and I could tell it was stressing her out.

“Rums, she hasn’t answered her mom’s call,” I said, voice lower now. “But if she calls back, I’m just worried. The last time her mom called it was to talk about that time Mira fell off the stage at rehearsals two years ago and got a concussion. And it wasn’t even to check if she was okay — it was about how bad it would look for her family’s company image.”

Rumi pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes wide with concern. “She called about that? After Mira got hurt?”

I nodded, jaw tight again. “Yeah. Said something like ‘optics are important’ and how it reflected badly on the family name. Mira didn’t sleep for two days after that call. She kept replaying it, wondering if she really had embarrassed them by getting injured.”

Rumi’s face crumpled. She glanced toward the kitchen, then back at me. “No wonder she doesn’t want to talk about it. That’s awful.”

“I know,” I muttered. “But that’s exactly why she should talk to us. She doesn’t have to protect us from her parents’ bullshit. We can handle it. I just… I hate watching her carry it alone again.”

---- RUMI POV ----

The next week felt like watching a crack slowly spread across something precious.

It wasn’t dramatic. There were no more raised voices or slammed doors. But the distance between Mira and Zoey grew a little more every day, and I felt it like a bruise I couldn’t stop pressing.

Monday, Mira left early for the studio. She said she wanted to work on some new choreography alone. When I asked if she wanted company, she kissed my forehead and said, “Not today, baby. I need to clear my head.” She didn’t come home until almost midnight, hair damp with sweat, eyes tired but guarded. She crawled into bed between us without saying much.

Tuesday, Zoey disappeared into the small recording booth we had in the penthouse for most of the afternoon. I heard her playing the same chords over and over, muttering lyrics under her breath. When I brought her tea, she thanked me with a distracted smile but didn’t invite me to stay. “Just working through something,” she said. She didn’t come out until dinner, and even then she was quiet.

We only really came together at night.

Every evening, no matter how distant they’d been during the day, we ended up in the same bed. Mira would pull me close from behind, Zoey would curl into my chest, and for a few hours the tension would ease. We’d hold each other a little tighter than usual, like we were all afraid the space between us might grow too big to close.

By Thursday, it was starting to hurt.

Mira had gone to dance again — alone. I found her later in the studio, practicing the same sequence over and over with fierce focus, like she was trying to outrun her own thoughts. When I asked her to come home early, she said she needed “one more hour.”

Zoey spent that same afternoon writing lyrics in the living room, headphones on, scribbling furiously in her notebook. When I sat beside her, she leaned into me for a moment, but her mind was clearly somewhere else.

That night in bed, I lay between them, listening to their breathing. They were both holding me, but I could feel the space between them like a cold draft.

I hated it.

I hated how Mira’s parents’ call had opened an old wound she didn’t want us to see. I hated how Zoey’s worry came out as frustration. And I hated most of all that I didn’t know how to fix it without making it worse.

Friday morning, the three of us sat at the kitchen table for breakfast. The silence was heavy.

Mira was picking at her food. Zoey was staring into her coffee like it held answers.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Are we… okay?” I asked quietly.

Both of them looked up at me.

Mira reached for my hand first. “We’re okay, Rums.”

Zoey nodded, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah. We’re fine.”

They were lying.

And I didn’t know how to make them stop.

“Okay, so I was thinking we could do a movie marathon or something today?” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “Nothing’s on our schedule, so… we could just stay in, order snacks, and watch whatever we want?”

I looked between them hopefully.

Mira and Zoey both froze for a second, exchanging a quick glance that made my stomach drop. They looked guilty.

“Sorry, I can’t,” Mira said, already standing up. “I booked the recording booth today.”

“Yeah, and I’m so close to finishing our new routine,” Zoey added, pushing her chair back. “Which reminds me, I gotta go. I told Jessie I’d be there by 9.”

They both got up almost at the same time, putting their plates in the sink with quick, efficient movements. The kitchen felt suddenly too big, too empty.

I sat there, fork still in my hand, watching them.

“Oh… okay,” I said quietly. “Maybe tomorrow then?”

Mira leaned down and kissed the top of my head, but it felt rushed. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll text you later.”

Zoey gave me a quick hug from behind, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Love you, Rums. Have a good day.”

And just like that, they were gone.

The front door clicked shut, and the apartment fell silent except for the low hum of the fridge.

I stared at the half-eaten breakfast on the table, my appetite completely gone. My patterns dimmed, vines curling tight against my skin like they were trying to hide.

I stood in the kitchen for a long moment, staring at the dishes in the sink like they might give me answers. My chest felt tight, but I tried to push it down. They were just busy. They had things to do. It was fine.

I spent the next few hours trying to fill the silence.

I cleaned the kitchen. Folded laundry that didn’t need folding. Sat on the couch and scrolled through my phone without really seeing anything. I even tried watching one of the animated movies Zoey loved, but I turned it off after ten minutes because the empty space beside me felt louder than the dialogue.

Eventually I gave up and went to the dance studio downstairs. I put on our new routine track and moved through it slowly, trying to lose myself in the steps. But every time I missed a beat or landed slightly off, Celine’s voice crept back in.

See? You’re falling behind again.

I shook my head hard and kept going. One more time. Then another. The movements got sharper, more desperate. My patterns flickered uneasily under my skin.

Hours passed.

By the time I finally stopped, I was sweaty and breathing hard, but the quiet in my head hadn’t gotten any better. I checked my phone. No messages from either of them.

That’s when I felt it.

The pulse slammed into me like a wave — urgent, sharp, and strong. Pink light flared across my arms and chest, the call pulling at something deep inside my bones. A rift. And it felt close. Dangerous.

I grabbed my phone with shaking fingers and called Mira first.

Straight to voicemail.

I tried Zoey next.

Voicemail again.

My heart started hammering. I sent a quick group text:

Rumi: Honmoon call. Strong one. Heading out now. Please come if you can.

No reply.

I stood there for half a second, staring at the screen, waiting. Hoping.

Nothing.

The pull from the Honmoon grew stronger, almost painful. I couldn’t wait. Not if people might get hurt.

I changed into my gear as fast as I could — reinforced jacket, boots, the silver charms Zoey had given me last month. My hands were trembling as I laced them up.

I was going alone.

The thought made my stomach twist, but I pushed it down. I’d done this before. I could handle it. I had to.

As I stepped out into the cold afternoon air, the Honmoon’s pulse thrummed louder in my veins, guiding me toward the east side of the city. My patterns glowed steadily now — not panicked, but determined.

I just hoped they’d see the message soon.

Because for the first time in a long while, I was walking into a fight without them by my side.

And that scared me more than any demon ever could.

The rift had torn open in an old abandoned warehouse district near the river. Pink light bled from the cracks in the walls like blood from a fresh wound. I could feel the demons before I saw them.

I didn’t wait for backup.

I couldn’t.

I kicked the side door open and stepped inside.

Three demons had already spilled through. They were big — bigger than anything we’d faced recently — twisted between shadow and jagged bone, eyes burning a sick, pulsing red. Different. Very different. I had never seen this kind before. The moment they sensed me, they attacked.

I fought hard.

My sword tore into the first one. The second one caught me off guard — its claws raked across my left shoulder, deep and burning. Pain exploded down my arm, but I kept moving. I was still okay. I could handle this.

I took down the second demon with a vicious slash across its throat.

The third one was the biggest. It roared and charged. I met it head-on, but my injured shoulder screamed every time I moved my left arm. I was slower now. Sloppier.

It caught me by the throat.

Its massive clawed hand wrapped around my neck and slammed me against a concrete pillar. The impact knocked the air out of me. I gasped, claws digging uselessly at its wrist as it lifted me off the ground.

“Oh, silly hunter,” the demon spoke, voice like grinding stone and rotting flesh. “Where are your other little hunters? Have they finally seen you for what you truly are? A burden. A mistake. A pathetic half-breed they’re tired of protecting.”

“Gwi… Ma…” I choked out, barely able to force the name past its grip.

The demon let out a wet, rattling laugh. Its burning red eyes bored into mine.

“Not quite.” He may not have been here but it was like he was speaking through the demon. “After our last battle I’ve been thinking about the best way to finally stop you hunters. And soon I will be able to take over this world.”

Before I could react, something sharp pierced my side — not claws, but something thinner, colder. A stinger? I didn’t see it clearly. All I felt was a sudden, icy burn flooding into my veins.

New. Wrong. It spread fast, like liquid fire mixed with ice, crawling through my blood and making my patterns flicker erratically. My vision blurred at the edges. My limbs felt heavier.

Gwi Ma leaned closer, hot breath washing over my face.

“You fight so hard to be loved,” it hissed. “But they’re already pulling away, aren’t they? Soon they’ll see you’re not worth the trouble. Just like everyone else.”

My claws slashed weakly at its arm. I could feel the poison burning deeper, making my shoulder wound throb in time with my heartbeat.

I was starting to slip.

But I refused to go down without a fight.

With the last of my strength, I drove my claws into the side of its head. Gwi Ma roared and flung me across the warehouse. I hit the ground hard, rolling, coughing up blood.

The world was spinning.

That’s when I heard them.

Mira and Zoey’s voices — sharp, angry — echoing from outside the warehouse.

“You can’t keep shutting me out like this!”

“I’m not shutting you out, I just don’t want to talk about it right now!”

They burst through the door still arguing, gear half-on, eyes blazing at each other instead of the threat in front of them.

My stomach dropped.

The big demon saw the opening immediately. It lunged straight toward them while they were distracted, claws raised for a killing strike.

They weren’t looking.

They weren’t focused.

I didn’t think.

I threw myself between them and the demon.

Its claws slammed into my side with brutal force. The impact sent me flying backward. I hit the ground hard, skidding across the concrete, pain exploding through my whole upper body like fire.

“RUMI!” Mira’s voice cracked with horror.

The argument died instantly.

---- MIRA POV ----

The argument died instantly.

One second Zoey and I were snapping at each other in the doorway — voices raised, frustration boiling over — and the next, everything shattered.

“RUMI!”

The scream tore out of my throat as I watched her small body fly across the warehouse like a ragdoll. She hit the ground hard, skidding across the concrete with a sickening sound that I knew I’d hear in my nightmares. Blood already soaked through her jacket. Her patterns flared wildly — bright pink, then stuttering, flickering like a dying bulb.

Zoey was moving before I could even process it, sprinting toward her with a broken shout. I followed, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack my ribs.

The big demon roared behind us, but I didn’t care. Nothing else mattered. Not the fight. Not the argument. Not my stupid fucking pride.

Only Rumi.

She was trying to push herself up when we reached her, one arm clutched tight against her bleeding side, the other trembling as it held her weight. Blood dripped from her mouth. Her breathing was wet and ragged.

“Rumi—fuck, baby, stay down,” I gasped, dropping to my knees beside her. My hands hovered uselessly for a second, terrified to touch her and make it worse.

Zoey was already there, gently cradling Rumi’s head in her lap, tears streaming down her face. “No no no—Rumi, look at me. Stay with us. Please.”

Rumi’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. When she saw us, a weak, pained smile tugged at her bloody lips.

“You’re… here,” she rasped. “Took you long enough.”

A broken sob escaped Zoey. She leaned down and pressed her forehead to Rumi’s, hands shaking as she brushed damp hair off her face. “I’m so sorry. We were fighting like idiots and you— you jumped in front of that thing—”

“I’m okay,” Rumi whispered, but her voice was fading. Her patterns were dimming fast, the pink light stuttering like it was struggling to stay on. “Just… tired. My shoulder hurts. Side hurts worse.”

I finally found my voice, but it came out cracked and terrified. “Let me see.”

My hands shook as I carefully peeled back the torn fabric of her jacket. The sight that greeted me made my blood run cold.

Three brutal claw marks slashed across her ribs and side, deep and ragged, already swelling and turning an ugly, unnatural shade of blackish-purple. Blood poured freely from the wounds, soaking through her shirt and dripping onto the dirty concrete. But worse was the smaller puncture wound just below them — a clean, vicious stab that was already inflamed, dark veins spreading outward.

My stomach dropped violently.

“Fuck… fuck,” I whispered, voice breaking. The demon had done this. And it had done it while Zoey and I were too busy fighting each other to protect her.

I glanced back toward the demon just in time to see it let out one final, furious roar before dissolving into black smoke and ash, vanishing back through the shrinking rift. It knew it was outnumbered now. It had done its damage and fled.

“We have to get her home, now,” I said, panic rising sharply in my throat. My hands were already pressing against the worst of the gashes, trying to stem the bleeding, but it wasn’t enough. “She’s losing too much blood and that puncture…”

“RuRu, do you think you can stand?” Zoey asked, her voice tight with fear as her eyes flicked desperately between Rumi and me.

“I think so,” Rumi groaned, teeth clenched. She tried to push herself up, but the movement made her gasp in pain. The moment she was upright, I could see it all over her face — the deep lines of agony etched into her expression, her lips pressed thin, eyes squeezed shut for a moment as she fought to stay conscious.

“Okay, okay… slowly,” I said, voice trembling as I quickly moved to grab one side of her. Zoey took the other, and together we carefully lifted her between us, supporting most of her weight.

Rumi swayed dangerously the second she was on her feet, a weak whimper escaping her as fresh blood trickled down her side. Her patterns were flickering erratically now, the pink light stuttering like it was struggling to stay alive.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered fiercely, wrapping my arm around her waist, careful not to press on the wounds. “We’ve both got you. Just lean on us, baby. We’re getting you out of here.”

Rumi nodded weakly, head lolling against my shoulder as we started moving toward the exit. Every step made her breath hitch in pain, but she kept trying — kept fighting — even as her legs trembled beneath her.

Zoey’s voice cracked beside me. “Stay awake, Rums. Please. We’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

I held onto Rumi tighter, my own heart pounding with terror and guilt.

We never should have let it get this far.

We never should have let her fight alone.

And I swore to myself, as we half-carried her out into the cold night air, that I would never let my pride or my fear come between us again.

Not when it cost us this.

***

When we got home, we acted fast.

The second the apartment door shut behind us, the weight of everything crashed down. Rumi was barely conscious between us, her breathing shallow and ragged, blood still seeping through the makeshift bandages we’d tied on her in the car. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely keep my grip on her.

“Zoey, grab the first aid kit!” I said urgently, voice cracking as I guided Rumi toward the couch. “The big one — everything.”

“Got it,” Zoey replied, already sprinting toward the hallway closet. Her voice was tight with fear, but she moved with purpose.

I eased Rumi down onto the couch as gently as I could, supporting her weight so she didn’t have to put pressure on her injured side. She let out a soft, pained whimper when her back hit the cushions. The sound tore through me like a knife.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I whispered, kneeling in front of her. “I’m so sorry. Just hold on a little longer.”

Her jacket was stiff with dried and fresh blood. I worked carefully, unzipping it slowly and peeling the heavy fabric off her shoulders, trying not to jostle her injured arm or the deep gashes across her ribs. Every time the material stuck to a wound, Rumi hissed through her teeth, her patterns flickering weakly.

Zoey dropped to her knees beside me a second later, the large first aid kit thudding onto the floor. She flipped it open and started pulling out supplies — disinfectant, gauze, antiseptic wipes, bandages, and the strong painkillers we kept for emergencies.

“Got it,” Zoey said, voice trembling as she handed me the disinfectant. Her eyes were wide and glassy as she looked at Rumi’s injuries. “God, Mira… look at her side.”

“I see it,” I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could for Rumi’s sake. Inside, I was screaming.

The claw marks were worse than I’d thought in the warehouse — deep, jagged, and already showing signs of infection from whatever filth had been on the demon’s claws. But the puncture wound below them worried me most. The skin around it was an angry, unnatural purple-black.

Rumi’s head lolled back against the couch, eyes half-lidded. “Hurts…” she mumbled, barely coherent.

“I know, sweetheart,” I whispered, pouring the disinfectant onto a thick pad of gauze. “This is going to sting like hell. Squeeze my hand if you need to.”

Zoey took Rumi’s other hand, lacing their fingers tightly. “We’re right here. We’ve got you.”

I pressed the soaked gauze against the deepest claw mark. Rumi jerked hard, a sharp cry escaping her lips as her patterns flared bright pink for a second before dimming again. Her grip on my hand tightened painfully.

“I’m sorry,” I kept repeating under my breath as I worked, cleaning each wound as thoroughly as I could. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Zoey helped me wrap fresh bandages around Rumi’s torso, her movements quick but gentle. Tears were streaming down her face now, but she didn’t stop — didn’t hesitate. When we finally finished cleaning and bandaging the worst of it, Rumi was trembling, sweat mixing with the blood on her skin.

“You did so good,” I told her, brushing damp hair off her forehead. “You’re so strong, baby. We’re almost done.”

Rumi’s eyes fluttered open, glassy with pain but still trying to focus on us. “Don’t… fight,” she rasped. “Please don’t fight anymore.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest.

Zoey leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Rumi’s knuckles, voice breaking. “We won’t. I promise. We’re done fighting. We’re here for you.”

I nodded, throat too tight to speak. I leaned down and kissed Rumi’s temple, then her cheek, tasting salt and blood and fear.

“We’re not going anywhere,” I whispered against her skin. “You’re safe now. Just rest.”

Rumi’s breathing slowly evened out as the painkillers started to kick in. Her patterns finally settled into a faint, exhausted glow. She was still with us.

Zoey stood up slowly, her hands still trembling as she gathered the bloodied gauze and discarded supplies. She moved quietly toward the kitchen to throw everything away and get fresh water, giving us a small moment alone. I stayed on the floor in front of the couch, unable to pull away from Rumi.

I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around her carefully, mindful of her injuries, pulling her gently against my chest. She melted into the hug with a tired sigh, her head resting on my shoulder. Her patterns were still dim, but they flickered a little warmer now that she was safe.

“I know you heal fast,” I whispered into her hair, my voice cracking, “but you can’t just—”

“It would’ve had you guys, Mir. I had to.”

Her words were soft, but they hit me like a punch. I held her tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head.

“You really scared us,” I said, voice thick with everything I’d been holding back. “You scared me. Please do not do that again.”

Rumi let out a weak, tired laugh that turned into a wince. “No promises.”

I pulled back just enough to look at her face — pale, exhausted, but still trying to smile for me. It broke something inside my chest.

I brushed my thumb across her cheek, wiping away a streak of dried blood. “I mean it, Rumi. I can’t… I can’t watch you throw yourself in front of us like that. Not when we were the ones being stupid. Not when we should’ve been protecting you.”

She leaned into my touch, eyes fluttering half-closed. “I couldn’t let anything happen to you two. Not because of me.”

The guilt twisted deeper.

I swallowed hard, then decided to tell her the rest.

“My mom called earlier,” I said quietly. “Before the rift. I didn’t answer. But when I finally listened to the voicemail… she said they had a business deal lined up. A ‘strategic alliance.’ They want me to get married. Some heir from another powerful family. She made it sound like it was already half-decided.”

Rumi’s eyes opened fully, sharp despite the pain. “What?”

“I hung up the second she said it,” I continued, voice low. “Didn’t even let her finish. But it brought everything back. The pressure. The expectations. The way they always treated me like a pawn instead of a daughter. I didn’t know how to tell you and Zoey without it becoming… this.” I gestured vaguely at the tension that had been hanging between us all week.

Rumi reached up with her good hand and cupped my cheek. Her touch was weak, but warm.

“You don’t have to carry that alone,” she whispered. “That’s what you always tell me. So let me tell you the same thing. You don’t have to protect us from your parents. We can handle it. Together.”

I closed my eyes and leaned into her palm, feeling the sting of tears.

Zoey came back from the kitchen then, carrying a glass of water and more clean towels. She paused when she saw us — me holding Rumi, both of us teary-eyed.

“Everything okay?” she asked softly, setting the glass down.

I looked up at her, the earlier fight feeling so small and stupid now.

“We’re getting there,” I said. “I told her about the call. About what my mom wanted.”

Zoey’s expression softened. She knelt down beside us again, one hand resting gently on Rumi’s knee, the other reaching for mine.

“We’re not letting them take you away from us,” Zoey said firmly. “Not now. Not ever.”

Rumi nodded weakly between us, her patterns finally starting to glow a little steadier.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she murmured. “Not unless you two drag me.”

I let out a watery laugh and pressed my forehead to hers.

“Good. Because we’re never letting you go.”

Zoey leaned in, completing the circle — the three of us pressed close together on the floor, holding each other through the blood, the fear, and the lingering hurt.

We still had a lot to talk about.

But for tonight, this was enough.

Rumi was safe.

We were together.

And that was what mattered most.