Mira was not impressed.
She refused to be.
Rumi stood in front of her, flushed with irritation, all sharp words and righteous energy, like she hadn’t been raised in silk and expectation. Like she was not exactly what Mira hated.
A princess.
Mira leaned back against the desk, arms crossed, smirk lazy and mean. “Oh, fuck off, Princess. You probably haven’t even kissed anyone before.”
Rumi froze.
It was subtle. Anyone else might have missed it.
Mira did not.
There it was. That flicker. That flush creeping higher up her neck. That hesitation.
And something in Mira’s chest, traitorous and annoying, whispered:
Pretty.
Mira crushed it immediately.
Rumi stepped forward, eyes blazing. “That’s none of your business.”
Mira laughed, sharp and delighted, and jabbed a finger into Rumi’s chest. “Hah. I bet you don’t even know how.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“Then prove it.”
That was the moment.
That exact, stupid, irreversible moment.
Because Rumi’s hand fisted in the front of Mira’s shirt and pulled.
And suddenly Mira was sitting on the edge of the bed, and Rumi was on her lap.
Close.
Too close.
Mira’s breath caught, but she did not pull away. She would not give her that.
Rumi did not hesitate this time.
She kissed her.
It was not soft. It was not practiced. It was not anything like the composed, proper image she tried so hard to maintain.
It was messy.
Frustrated.
Desperate.
And Mira kissed back.
A quiet sound slipped out of her, something low and surprised, as Rumi shifted closer, like she was trying to prove a point with her entire body. Their argument didn’t disappear. It changed. Turned into something hotter, something that sparked and burned instead of snapped.
Mira broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, their foreheads almost touching, eyes locking.
Then Mira laughed, breathless, and tugged her own shirt up and over her head like she had something to prove too.
Rumi followed immediately, hands clumsy and determined, lips chasing Mira’s again like she could not stand the distance.
Cold fingers against warm skin.
A shiver down Mira’s spine.
“Fuck, Princess.”
The door opened.
Silence hit like a brick.
Mira blinked.
Rumi went rigid.
Celine stood in the doorway, hand still on the handle, eyes taking in the scene with slow, mounting disbelief.
Behind her, another girl, dark hair, freckles, bright, curious eyes, leaned slightly to the side to see better.
“Oh,” the girl said, clearly delighted. “Wow.”
Rumi scrambled off Mira like she had been burned. “I- it’s not what it looks like.” Her face a deep, unforgiving red.
Mira, still catching her breath, dragged her shirt back on with zero urgency, eyes flicking between Celine’s pinched expression and the new girl’s barely contained excitement.
Celine pinched the bridge of her nose. “I leave for one hour.”
The new girl stepped fully into the room, grinning like she had just walked into her favorite show mid-drama. “Hi. I’m Zoey. Are you guys always like this, or did I just get lucky?”
Mira huffed a laugh despite herself, leaning back on her hands. That accent… very American.
Rumi looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor.
And Mira could not stop the small, satisfied smile tugging at her mouth.
“Guess you’re the third hunter,” she said, eyes glinting. “Hope you like chaos.”
Zoey’s grin widened.
“Oh,” she said. “I love chaos.”
