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In the first days after it all ended, Rumi finally knew what quiet felt like, the kind of peace her body didn't quite know how to process.
She didn't dream. Didn't think. Just slept.
For the first time in years, her sleep was deep and refreshing. The exhaustion that had lived inside her for so long finally had space to drain out. Every time she stirred awake, it was only long enough to shift position, drink a little water, and drift off again.
Her friends let her.
They understood the kind of tired she carried, the kind that wasn't in the muscles or bones, but in the mind. Years of fear and pressure collapsing all at once. So they didn't ask questions or try to talk things through yet. They just took care of her.
Zoey checked on her to make sure she had everything she needed. Mira would peek in at night with tea, smile faintly at the sight of Rumi cocooned in blankets, and whisper something like, "Sleep as long as you need."
There were things to be said, explanations to give, old wounds that needed tending, but they all silently agreed that it could wait.
For now, Rumi's mind was at rest. No weight on her shoulders, no voice whispering she had to fix herself, no need to hide her patterns. She didn't have to stress over her friends discovering what she was. She didn't have to rush to seal the honmoon before time ran out.
For a while, it almost felt like nothing had ever gone wrong.
Rumi woke one morning and felt good. Clear-headed. Whole. Her chest didn't ache the way it used to. She could smile without effort, laugh without guilt. She could simply exist in the presence of the people she loved most without worrying about what they might see. No more fears of rejection or abandonment.
Eventually, the trio sat down for the talk they'd been putting off. It wasn't easy — there were tears, guilt, and halting explanations.
Everything that had been left unsaid finally found its way into words. By the end, they all felt lighter. No more lies, no more secrets. Just trust, and the reassurance that they'd always stand together.
Everything was back in order. Maybe even better than before.
Or so Rumi thought.
Because peace never lasted forever.
Once her body rested and her mind had time to catch up, the peace started to crack.
The realisation settled in slowly — that she had gained as much as she had lost in that single night. Her whole world had crumbled, and even if the broken pieces were glued back together, nothing was the same anymore. It still hurt. Her whole life had been a lie, and the price of truth had been great. She'd lost people, leaving behind a bitter taste and a hollow space in her chest. And it was a miracle she had come out of the battle alive at all.
Her mind hadn't stopped haunting her since.
The nightmares came slowly at first, small things. Flickers of stage lights. The wrong song starting. The echo of hateful lyrics bouncing through her mind until she woke up gasping.
Those early dreams weren't devastating. They left her shaken, but she could manage. She'd stay in her room, breathe through the panic, remind herself she was safe now. That the world outside her door wasn't the same one from her nightmares.
But some nights were worse.
A blinding light breaking through her defences, striking her chest and burning through her body.
Dying.
She'd jolt upright, drenched in sweat, pulse hammering in her ears.
And reminding herself of reality didn't always help. Her life had come at a price. Closing her eyes only showed Jinu's face lingering in the dark corners of her mind, leaving her chest aching with the wish that everyone had survived.
Other nights, it was the blue flash of her friends' weapons, them turning away from her. When she woke, those images brought the same irrational thoughts every time.
They're gone.
She'd stumble out of bed, bare feet on cold floor, moving before logic could stop her. The penthouse was too big and too quiet at night. Her own breathing sounded too loud as she searched, voice cracking when she called their names.
"Zoey? Mira?"
The silence that followed sent her spiraling further. Until a light flicked on.
Zoey, bleary-eyed and soft-voiced, stood in the doorway. "Rumi? Hey, hey— what's wrong?"
Rumi couldn't answer. The words tangled in her throat. She only reached for Zoey, clutching her like she might vanish if she let go.
Zoey never scolded her, never told her she was being ridiculous. She just wrapped her arms around Rumi and murmured quietly, "You're okay. I'm right here. Mira's here too. She's just sleeping. You're safe."
When Rumi's breathing began to even out, Zoey would guide her back to bed. "Stay here tonight," she'd say, patting the blanket.
Rumi didn't argue. She curled close, burying her face against Zoey's shoulder, needing to feel her there — warm, solid, real. She inhaled Zoey's scent in shaky breaths, listening to the steady thump of her heartbeat beneath her ear. That sound became Rumi's lullaby, coaxing her body out of its panic. Wrapped in Zoey's arms, her heart finally slowed. Her brain understood: it was over. She was safe.
Other nights, it was Mira. Sometimes Rumi didn't even make it to the door before it opened — Mira already awake from the sound of her frantic voice.
"Hey," Mira would whisper, catching Rumi before she could collapse. Rumi would clutch her, trembling, face buried against her shoulder, breath coming in gasps.
Mira never asked about the dream. She didn't need to. She just held her tighter, rubbing slow circles on her back, murmuring, "You're safe. We're right here. Breathe with me."
When Rumi's breathing steadied, Mira guided her to bed. She pressed a palm to Rumi's chest, the weight grounding her. "Breathe," she whispered again. "In… and out. You're here. You're with me."
Rumi followed the rhythm — in, out — Mira's voice pulling her back to the present.
When calm finally settled, Mira wrapped her arm around her, murmuring reassurances until Rumi's eyes grew heavy.
Mira's hand stayed on her chest, while Rumi's fingers curled over her forearm to keep it there. That simple pressure helped. If she just focused on Mira's warmth pressed against her back, on the soft rhythm of her breathing, she could fall asleep again.
And when morning came, Mira was still there.
˜”*°•.˜”*°• ■ •°*”˜.•°*”˜
During the late-night nightmares — lost in panic, convinced she was losing Mira and Zoey all over again — Rumi was desperate for contact, for the comfort of their warm bodies pressed against hers. Their presence was a balm to her troubled mind. When they were near, the world felt real again.
But when morning came, when her head was finally free of the haunting images of the people she loved turning away, a different kind of anxiety took hold.
The tension crept back into her muscles. Her senses sharpened, her mind scanning for threats that weren't there.
The static buzz of speakers, the sharp interruption of a half-cut song as Zoey flipped through TV channels — every sound made her skin crawl. Even when she told herself it was nothing, just background noise, her pulse still jumped.
And the flickering lights in the hallway — mundane, harmless — sent a chill up her spine, the fine hairs at her nape rising in alarm. Her body acted like it was back on that cursed stage.
She told herself it was just sensitivity. That she was overreacting.
But the unease wouldn't leave.
Then came the moments that truly made her question her own sanity.
It was normal — it was — for the girls to pass behind one another in the penthouse, to touch in greeting, to lean close to whisper something with a laugh.
Perfectly normal.
But when Rumi heard footsteps behind her in a dim corridor, her stomach clenched. Her body stiffened before she even realized it, breath trapped in her throat. Her mind conjured an image of the stage lights cutting out, of the doppelgängers' mocking grins.
Her heart would lurch.
And when Zoey or Mira reached for her unexpectedly — a hand brushing her arm, fingers curling around her shoulder — her reaction was immediate. Her breath hitched, her muscles locked. Every instinct screamed danger.
She forced herself not to move, not to pull away, not to ruin the moment. She pretended to relax, to smile, to laugh like nothing was wrong.
They were her friends. Her family. She knew that.
But her body didn't believe it.
Afterward, she would shake her head at herself, muttering quietly. How stupid. How ridiculous. Why was she still reacting like this?
She was safe. They loved her. She wasn't back on that stage.
And yet, sometimes when they walked together, Rumi would drift just a little behind them, keeping them in her line of sight. It made no sense — she knew that — but it eased something deep inside her.
Because that small, broken voice still whispered, every time: What if you turn around, and it isn't them anymore?
She tried to convince herself she was fine. That it would pass on its own.
Everything was over. The danger. The secrets. The fear.
Mira and Zoey knew who she really was now, and they had stayed. They had accepted her. That should have been enough.
So every time her body betrayed her, Rumi forced a smile to cover it. If her voice trembled, she turned it into a laugh. If her hands shook, she tucked them into her pockets.
And she didn't say a word. Because how could she?
They had forgiven her. Trusted her again. Rumi had forgiven them, too. She couldn't burden them with this. She couldn't tell them that sometimes her brain screamed run when they reached for her. That every flicker of light or cut of static sent her back to that moment.
She told herself it would fade if she ignored it long enough.
And when she caught Mira's worried glance, or Zoey's brief frown when she flinched, she only smiled wider, talked louder, as if sheer will could erase their concern.
Because it had to be fine.
Because she wanted it to be.
So she decided to do what she always did — work.
That had always helped. Keep busy, keep moving, fill her head with lyrics and choreography and plans.
If she focused hard enough, maybe the noise would stop. Maybe her mind would finally quiet down.
˜”*°•.˜”*°• ■ •°*”˜.•°*”˜
They were planning their comeback — the three of them together again. That was good. That was normal.
Huntrix still owed their fans the Golden live stage. Every previous attempt had ended in disaster, but maybe this time they could finally get it right.
Rumi wasn't fond of the song anymore, but it was for the fans. She could handle that.
She had to.
At least, that was what she kept telling herself.
They gathered on the stage again, running through steps, syncing vocals, planning how the performance would unfold. Everything went smoothly at first — their movements sharp, fluid, perfectly in sync.
Rumi sang her parts without faltering, her voice steady and clear.
Then, during a full test run with all the music and lights, something glitched. The instrumental stuttered — a faint pop, then silence.
It was such a small thing. It shouldn't have mattered.
But Rumi froze. Her pulse spiked. Her throat locked.
In an instant, she was back on that stage — that night — with the music cutting out and hateful lyrics following.
Her stomach twisted. Her vision blurred.
Zoey and Mira kept going at first, unaware, their vocals steady. But as seconds passed and Rumi didn't move, both turned toward her.
She stood still, eyes wide, face blank, her whole body trembling.
"Rumi?" Mira's voice reached her first. But Rumi didn't answer. The thundering of her heart drowned out everything else. Her breath came shallow and wheezing, the air refusing to fill her lungs no matter how hard she tried.
Mira approached, reaching out. "Rumi, are you okay?" Her voice was gentle but the sudden weight of a hand on Rumi's shoulder made her flinch violently. She jerked away like the touch burned, spinning sharply — straight into Zoey.
"Hey, hey— what's wrong?" Zoey's voice was soft, confused, but it didn't matter. Rumi stumbled back, panic rising fast.
The stage lights blurred. The empty seats beyond the stage swayed in her vision.
"Leave me alone," she gasped, voice shaking.
Mira blinked, hurt flashing across her face. "Rumi—"
"Leave me alone!" Rumi's voice rose, cracking. Her chest heaved, pulse pounding against her ribs. She staggered back, arm raised as if to shield herself.
Zoey and Mira exchanged a look — alarm, worry, disbelief — both realizing in that instant that this wasn't just Rumi struggling with the song. Something was deeply wrong.
"Rumi, it's us," Zoey said softly, taking a slow, cautious step forward, careful not to crowd her. "We won't hurt you."
"Rumi, please." Mira's voice joined hers. She stayed where she was, not wanting to make Rumi retreat further. "You're safe with us."
Rumi's eyes darted between them — wide, unfocused, glassy. Her chest rose and fell too fast, each breath sharp and shallow. She heard their voices, but her brain didn't register them as familiar.
She didn't want to run. She didn't want to lash out. But she couldn't move forward either. Frozen, her hands trembled at her sides, her eyes squeezing shut like the darkness could block the memory. If she couldn't see them, if her mind couldn't twist their faces maybe it would all stop.
"Rumi," Zoey said again, even softer this time. When Rumi opened her eyes, Zoey had edged closer. Not too close, just enough for Rumi to see her clearly. Her expression wasn't angry. There was no fear, no disgust. Only worry. "It's okay," Zoey murmured. "It's over. You're okay."
Her voice cracked slightly as she slowly lifted her hands until they rested gently against Rumi's cheeks. Her thumbs brushed light circles over the damp skin beneath Rumi's eyes. "You'll be alright. Just breathe."
Rumi's breathing hitched, her hands flying up to grip Zoey's wrists — not to push her away, just to feel her. To prove this was real.
"Rumi, listen to me." Mira's calm tone cut through the ringing in Rumi's ears. She had stepped closer now, still cautious, stopping just behind Zoey. Rumi's wild eyes flicked toward her.
"Take a deep breath, okay? Just one," Mira said, lifting a hand to her own chest in demonstration. "In."
Rumi obeyed — a sharp, shaky inhale that barely filled her lungs.
"Good. Hold it," Mira continued, voice gentle. "One, two, three. Now exhale… four, five, six."
Rumi released the breath in a tremor, her shoulders sagging slightly with it.
"Again," Mira urged softly. "In… one, two, three. Out… four, five, six."
Zoey's thumbs kept tracing small, soothing circles against Rumi's skin. "That's it," she murmured. "You're doing great."
Slowly, Rumi's pulse began to settle. Her chest loosened, the air finally filling her lungs the way it should. Tears welled up, not from fear this time, but from sheer exhaustion. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"It's okay," Mira said, stepping closer. "You don't have to be sorry."
Rumi turned toward her, words dissolving into quiet sobs. Mira opened her arms immediately, and Rumi collapsed into them, clinging tight, her forehead pressed into Mira's shoulder.
Mira held her firmly, one hand gliding up and down her back, the other resting protectively on her head. "You'll be okay," she murmured against her hair.
Zoey moved in too, wrapping her arms around both of them from behind, resting her cheek against Rumi's back. "You're safe now," she whispered. "We're right here."
The three of them stayed that way for a long time, until Rumi's breathing steadied again.
But when the panic faded, the guilt settled in its place. She had been afraid of them. Of Zoey and Mira. And there was no more pretending that everything was perfectly alright.
˜”*°•.˜”*°• ■ •°*”˜.•°*”˜
The preparations for the Golden live performance were ultimately cancelled.
Even Rumi knew she wouldn't be able to handle it if there was another malfunction. The mere thought of the track cutting out mid-performance made her stomach twist. Neither Zoey nor Mira wanted to risk it either. Both had been firm — they weren't going to push through with the idea while Rumi was like this.
When they returned to the penthouse, the atmosphere was tense. Mira and Zoey exchanged a look before guiding Rumi to the couch.
"Okay, Rumi," Mira began, she was serious about it, but her voice remained soft. "Talk to us. Because clearly, it's not just the occasional nightmares anymore."
She sat on the edge of the couch, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees as she studied Rumi's face. She didn't want her friend to keep more secrets — not after everything that had already happened.
Zoey nodded, taking a seat beside Rumi, equally concerned. "What happened on that stage?" she asked gently.
Rumi swallowed, her throat dry. Her hands twisted together in her lap, fingers fidgeting with her sleeve. "I… I just keep seeing that night," she admitted quietly. "Takedown… the demons, the song, your faces…" She hesitated, voice breaking. "And you leaving." She paused, her lips trembling. "I'm sorry."
Zoey shook her head immediately, leaning closer, her hand reaching out to cover Rumi's. "Hey. It's not your fault. And we... we wouldn't have written Takedown if we knew what it meant to you." Her thumb brushed over Rumi's knuckles. "We don't think that about you. We never did."
Rumi blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears welling in her eyes.
"We shouldn't have let you leave that night," Mira said after a long silence, her gaze dropping to the floor. Her chest tightened with guilt — the image of Rumi walking away, patterns glowing, pain written all over her face, burned deep into her mind. "We should've listened to you." She exhaled shakily. "I'm sorry. We should've never made you feel like we'd hurt you."
Rumi shook her head, her voice trembling. "I know it's not true," she said. "I know you won't… I just—" Her words faltered, her hand squeezing Zoey's tighter. "It's like my brain doesn't care what I know."
Mira's frown deepened. Her heart ached at the sight of Rumi. "Rumi…" she murmured, searching for the right words. "We messed up that night," she murmured finally. "Big time."
Zoey nodded, still holding Rumi's hand. "A lot had happened back then." She drew in a deep breath before meeting Rumi's eyes again. "And we weren't there for you when you needed us most."
Rumi looked down, her chest tightening. A part of her understood why things had gone the way they did — the shock, the confusion — but another part of her was still hurting. It didn't erase the memory of her friends turning their weapons toward her.
Zoey's hand squeezed hers gently. "We're not going to be angry at you for being scared of us. You're allowed to feel whatever you feel."
Mira leaned forward, wrapping an arm around Rumi's shoulders and pulling her into a half-embrace. "We can fix this. Together. Okay?"
Rumi nodded faintly. Mira was right. Being on her own hadn't served her well in the past. This time, she didn't have to face it all alone.
˜”*°•.˜”*°• ■ •°*”˜.•°*”˜
Celine stared at the glowing screen long after finishing the company's statement.
Due to Rumi's health, Huntr/x's group activities will be on hold…
Rumi's health.
The words twisted in her stomach. She doubted it was anything physical, if Rumi had been seriously injured, Celine would have known through other channels. No, this was something else.
She'd only recently begun to understand the concept of mental health. And she had no doubt she'd done lasting damage to Rumi's. If it hadn't been clear before, it was the night her child had asked her to end her life, and worse, had believed Celine capable of doing it.
A good parent doesn't drive their child to that point. Celine didn't need an expert to tell her that much.
She'd been thinking about it for weeks, replaying every decision she made raising Rumi, every harsh word, every silence where comfort should have been. The things she hadn't said were worse than the ones she had.
Celine had spent nights typing multiple phrases into search bars, falling down an endless spiral of guides, forums, and think pieces about parenting and communication.
Half of it didn't apply — none of those people had to raise a half-demon — but she kept reading anyway. Anything that might make her a better mother now than she'd been before felt worth trying.
It was sobering to realize how deeply she'd failed even at the basics. Rumi had always deserved more — more love, more acceptance than Celine had ever known how to give.
Sometimes, she wondered if trying to fix things now would only make it worse. Rumi had survived so much without her. She had saved the world. And through all of it, Celine had been more of an obstacle than a source of help.
If anyone needed someone, it was Celine.
But even so, she could at least offer her presence and support.
Maybe Rumi wouldn't accept it. Maybe she didn't have to.
Celine decided to try anyway.
˜”*°•.˜”*°• ■ •°*”˜.•°*”˜
Rumi wasn't expecting anyone — least of all Celine.
The doorbell startled her, but she opened the door anyway.
"Celine?" Rumi blinked, disbelief flickering across her face. Of all people, this was the last one she thought she'd see.
"Hi." Celine's voice was quiet, a faint, uncertain smile tugging at her lips. "Can I come in?"
Rumi hesitated, her hand still on the door. For a fleeting moment, she considered closing it again. She didn't have the energy for family drama — not today. But anger had long since burned out, leaving only exhaustion. With a small sigh, she stepped aside.
Celine entered, eyes scanning Rumi from head to toe, her worry impossible to disguise. "I read the statement," she began.
Rumi tensed, shutting the door behind her.
So that was why Celine was here.
"It's fine," Rumi said quickly, brushing it off as she crossed the room. "Just a break."
"It didn't sound like you were fine." The worry in Celine's tone caught her off guard. Rumi frowned, unsure how to respond — Celine wasn't exactly the type of person she'd ever confided in. Certainly not now, when their worlds still felt like they existed on opposite sides.
"I'll handle it," she replied curtly. That was what Celine wanted to hear, wasn't it? That she'd sort things out and get back to work. "You don't have to worry. Or… whatever."
But Celine didn't take the bait. Her composure didn't waver. "That's not what I'm here for."
Rumi blinked. "Then what?"
"I want to know how you feel. Really," Celine said softly.
"…What?"
"Tell me," she repeated. "All the thoughts. All the fears. I want to see them."
Rumi just stared. The words didn't make sense. They went against everything she'd ever been taught, everything Celine had taught her.
"And isn't that… wrong?" she asked carefully, not convinced.
"No." Celine shook her head with a sigh. "I was wrong. You don't have to hide anything anymore."
Rumi swallowed hard, her throat tight. "Now? After everything?"
"I've had a lot of time to think." A dry, self-deprecating smile tugged at Celine's lips. "And the internet has scolded me thoroughly. Apparently, bottling up emotions is not recommended for healthy human or demon development."
The absurdity of it broke a laugh out of Rumi despite herself.
Celine's expression softened. "So? What's wrong?"
Rumi hesitated, then the mask cracked. Her voice trembled, her eyes glassy with tears. "I keep seeing that night. And even though I know it's over, I can't stop feeling like it's happening again. I get scared when Mira and Zoey are behind me, or when the music skips, or when the lights flicker. It's stupid, but I—"
"Hey." Celine interrupted gently. "It's... not stupid. I's okay to feel that way."
Rumi's breath hitched, her lips trembling. Hearing Celine say that felt surreal.
"You don't think it's ridiculous?" she asked weakly.
Celine's answer came without hesitation. "It was one hell of a night." She didn't know every detail, but she remembered the look on Rumi's face when she came to her — the moment Rumi told her that Mira and Zoey had found out about the patterns and left. She remembered her own failure, how Rumi had needed something from her that wasn't death, something Celine had never managed to give. It was enough to understand.
Celine reached up, brushing her thumb against the tear that slipped down Rumi's cheek. "It's not ridiculous to have feelings."
Rumi could hardly process it. Every word sounded foreign, as if someone else was speaking through Celine's face.
This wasn't how things used to go. The Celine she grew up with didn't validate fears — she taught Rumi to suppress them, to keep going no matter what. Weakness was something to overcome, not to express.
"Have you told your friends about it?"
"Well, I had to eventually," Rumi said with a weary exhale. "Because I had a full breakdown when we tried to practice before performing Golden again."
Celine's eyes softened with worry. "It's good they know," she said gently. "You shouldn't have to carry this alone. And you should take it easy."
Rumi's brows furrowed, frustration filling her again. The words should have comforted her, but they only stirred the restless storm inside.
She didn't have to hide her patterns anymore. Her friends had accepted her. She was free. She could live the way she wanted. She should be fine.
"I should be fine," she burst out, her voice cracking. "Everything is over. It should be fine!"
She wasn't angry at Celine, just exhausted. Desperate for things to make sense again.
Celine's heart clenched. Watching Rumi like this was unbearable — the trembling, her trying to hold herself together at all cost. More than anything, Celine wanted Rumi to be truly happy, not pretending, not hiding. It was what she deserved.
"Rumi," Celine sighed, "you've been anything but fine for a long time. And no matter how much we wish for it, pain doesn't disappear just because we want it to."
The words were the kind of truth Celine had denied for years. You can't bury fear and expect it to die out. It only festers until it finds another way out.
"Your friends," she continued, "are better than I gave them credit for. You'll get through this with them, if you keep talking. And if things fell apart before…" Her voice faltered for a moment. "That wasn't entirely on them. It never should've happened. It would've been different if I'd taught them better."
Celine exhaled, the admission was painful. She'd never truly prepared anyone for what Rumi was, hadn't told Mira or Zoey enough, hadn't taught herself to see Rumi as something other than a contradiction.
"I'm just… tired," Rumi murmured. "Tired of all of it."
Her shoulders slumped, the tension leaving her all at once. She was safe now, but her body hadn't learned it yet. Her mind hadn't caught up.
"Is there something I can do for you?"
It was a simple question, but for Celine it felt monumental, because she'd never asked it before. She'd always assumed she knew best. But this time wasn't about her. This time it was about Rumi — what she needed, what she wanted, what might finally make her feel safe and loved.
Rumi hesitated, unsure how to answer. She didn't even know what she wanted. Whether she wanted Celine's help or for her to leave her alone. But the ache in her chest told her the truth.
She wanted something she'd never truly been given.
Her eyes filled before she could stop them. The tears spilled, burning trails down her cheeks.
Before she could think better of it, Rumi moved. Two steps closed the space between them, and then she threw herself into Celine's arms, clutching her desperately, fingers fisting in the fabric of her blouse.
Celine froze for a heartbeat, arms hovering uncertainly. It had been years since Rumi had sought her out like this. Once, when Rumi was little, hugs were natural — scraped knees, childish nightmares. But that tenderness had been lost somewhere along the line.
The best Rumi ever got as a teenager was a pat on the shoulder, maybe a "good job." Comfort was something she was supposed to outgrow.
But not now.
Celine's hesitation melted away. Her arms came up around Rumi, wrapping her tightly, holding her until there was no space left between them.
Rumi trembled in her embrace, her sobs muffled against Celine's shoulder. Her fingers clung to her like she was afraid of being pushed away.
But Celine didn't let go. One hand rubbed slow, soothing circles along Rumi's back, the other cradled the back of her head.
"It's okay,' she whispered, her own voice breaking. "You'll be okay. I've got you."
This was how it should have been all along. What she should have done. Maybe then Rumi would've felt safe and happy once everything was over.
Rumi pressed closer, her breathing slowly beginning steady.
˜”*°•.˜”*°• ■ •°*”˜.•°*”˜
The following days always began the same, marked by reminders. When morning came, the three of them would gather together, Mira would check the calendar first, saying the date aloud and Zoey would echo her. It became their ritual.
"See? It's not that day," Zoey would say, smiling faintly. "We won't be on the stage. You're here with us."
Each time, Mira would add, "It's over, Rumi. And we're not going anywhere."
And every day, they reminded her of more than just the passing of time. Mira would brush her fingers through Rumi's hair, saying, "You've always been beautiful."
Zoey would grin and nudge her shoulder, "You're the reason Huntrix even works. Don't forget that."
Together, they'd tell her that they loved her, that they were grateful she existed. They couldn't imagine a world without her in it.
Each morning and each day, Rumi would listen, letting their words sink in, even if a part of her still struggled to trust them.
And every day, she said her own mantras to hold the pieces of herself together. It's over. I'm safe. They're here. They love me. The more she repeated it, the more she believed it.
But the nights were still harder. When darkness swallowed the space and silence filled the penthouse, the unease returned.
The dreams were unpredictable, sometimes vivid, other times blurry, hardly something she could made sense of, but they always left her waking with her heart pounding.
Eventually, Mira and Zoey suggested she stay with them. They didn't even need to discuss it — it was decided immediately. From then on, Rumi slept between them.
It became another ritual: Mira on her right, Zoey on her left, their arms draped loosely around her, their warmth grounding. Rumi would curl closer, pressing her cheek to Mira's shoulder or resting her hand on Zoey's arm, feel the steady rhythm of their breathing.
If she woke up from a nightmare, she didn't have to panic anymore. She just turned to either side, reaching for them — Mira's heartbeat under her ear, Zoey's quiet murmur of reassurance half-asleep. Their consistent presence keept her from spiraling in fear.
Sometimes, when the world was quiet and the city lights flickered faintly beyond the curtains, Rumi lay awake, her thoughts wandering. They always circled back to Celine.
She wondered if this was what the woman had felt all those years — that constant ache in your chest when affection and terror lived side by side. That same gnawing fear of losing someone you loved. The irrational anxiety at the possibility of them turning against you.
Now Rumi understood that love and fear weren't opposites. They could coexist, tangled together so tightly it was impossible to tell them apart.
It didn't excuse everything Celine had done. It didn't erase the pain. But Rumi found herself understanding her a little more.
˜”*°•.˜”*°• ■ •°*”˜.•°*”˜
Slowly, Rumi began to heal.
When she finally allowed herself to process everything, to sit with the discomfort instead of running from it, when she dared to feel *instead of numbing herself, things started to shift.
Each time her fears surfaced, Mira and Zoey countered them with reassurance, facts, nice words.
Over and over, until the frightened parts of her mind began to believe them.
It didn't happen instantly. But day by day, piece by piece, Rumi began to relax again. The paranoia faded first. Zoey and Mira stopped being possible threats, they became what they'd always been — her friends.
She started laughing with them again without the dread whispering at the back of her mind.
The hum of the speakers no longer sent her heart racing, and the flicker of the lights didn't freeze her in place.
Her world stopped feeling like a trap.
Still, Rumi knew better than to mistake progress for complete recovery. The fear was quieter now, but it was still there, waiting for the wrong sound or memory to stir it awake.
She reminded herself not to rush — healing wasn't a straight line, and she didn't want to fall apart again.
But she also didn't want to hold her friends back.
One afternoon, after a shared meal, she told Mira and Zoey that she thought they should go solo for a while. She'd thought it through.
"You've both been taking care of me long enough," she said with a small smile. "It's time you take care of yourselves too. Keep the fans happy. Do something that's just for you."
They exchanged a look — worry, hesitation, maybe guilt. But Rumi's voice was sure. She didn't want to rely on them forever, not for every little thing. They had already carried her through so much.
And so, life began to branch off in new directions.
Mira thrived almost immediately. Within weeks, she was gracing magazine covers, walking runways, and collaborating with high-end brands. Her smile lit up every photo and even if Rumi missed her, she couldn't deny she was proud. Mira was doing what she loved, shining in her own right.
Zoey, on the other hand, wasn't as eager to jump back into the industry. She stayed behind for a bit longer, lounging around the penthouse with Rumi, writing lyrics and humming under her breath. Eventually, she decided to take a trip back to America — a real break, she said — to visit her family and maybe find new inspiration for music.
Rumi encouraged both of them. She meant it.
Her heart ached, of course — the penthouse would feel unbearably empty without their voices — but she didn't want them to pause their lives because of her.
Besides… she wasn't completely alone.
Celine was still around. Their relationship wasn't perfect, not even close. The tension between them was still there. Rumi didn't know what she truly wanted from Celine anymore. Some days, she wanted to shut her out completely. Other days, she caught herself craving her presence.
But one thing was undeniable: Celine was trying.
She didn't pretend to have all the answers. When she didn't know what to say, she simply listened. When Rumi spoke, she didn't correct her or dismiss her feelings.
Sometimes it was awkward, often Celine was uncertain on what she should do, but she was there.
And maybe that was enough for now.
˜”*°•.˜”*°• ■ •°*”˜.•°*”˜
Rumi was doing alright on her own most of the time. She frequently chatted with Mira and Zoey — calls, voice messages, late-night texts, simple reminders that they were still a part of her life. Her friends reached out just as often, making space for her in their schedules, checking up on her, or sharing little updates about their days.
Everyone seemed content that way. There was comfort in the routine, in knowing that the others were safe and doing well. It kept them all at peace.
But some nights were harder. The nightmares hadn't left her completely, not yet. They came and went without warning, reminding her that healing wasn't that simple.
˜”*°•.˜”*°• ■ •°*”˜.•°*”˜
Rumi woke with a strangled gasp, the air catching halfway in her throat. The sheets were damp against her skin, sticking to her back and neck, and her heart hammered so hard it hurt. The echo of the crowd still rang in her ears — the lights, the music cutting, Takedown starting instead. Zoey's eyes filled with disgust. Mira's blade lifting.
Everybody betraying her. Everybody leaving.
Her breath stuttered.
She sat up too fast, the world swaying for a second before her feet hit the floor. The room was dark, bathed only in the dim glow of the city lights beyond. Her pulse pounded loudly in her head.
She dragged herself toward the mirror. The reflection met her halfway — wide eyes, trembling hands, patterns crawling across her arms and neck, glowing faintly in the dark.
"No—no, not again," she whispered, taking a step back. The marks were alive, pulsing with her heartbeat.
She spun on her heel and stumbled out of her room. "Mira?" Her voice came out cracked, small. "Zoey?"
Silence.
She pushed Mira's door open first. Empty bed. Neatly folded blanket.
Then Zoey's. Nothing. No bags, no clothes, no sound.
They were gone. Just like in the dream.
Her chest tightened, breath coming too fast. They left. They saw. They know what you are. The thought looped in her head, and she grabbed at the doorframe to steady herself.
She pressed her palm flat against her sternum, the way Mira had once shown her. In. Out. Breathe.
She tried. The air came sharp at first.
In. Hold. One, two, three.
Out. Four, five, six.
"Zoey's in America," she whispered to herself, voice shaking. "Mira's… Milan. Photoshoot."
In. Hold. One, two, three.
Out. Four, five, six.
"They're just… busy," she said, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. "They didn't leave. It's fine. It's okay."
She inhaled again — longer, steadier. Her body still trembled, but the breathing helped.
Her mind finally caught up, reminding her she wasn’t on that stage anymore.
It was over.
˜”*°•.˜”*°• ■ •°*”˜.•°*”˜
She sat on the edge of her bed for a long time, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt, the nightmare still clinging to her mind.
She tried lying back down, closing her eyes, telling herself it was over, it was just a dream but her mind replayed the stage, the song, the look in Mira's and Zoey's eyes. Every time she blinked, she saw them turning away.
Her throat was tight. She swallowed hard, pushing herself upright again. The idea of sleep was beyond her now. Her body was too tense, her pulse too high, the silence too loud.
She reached for her phone, thumb hovering over Mira's contact, then Zoey's. The screen glowed faintly in the dark, the familiar names right there. She could call. She could text. Just hearing their voices would be enough to ground her.
But she didn't.
They were busy, both of them. They had their own things to handle. It was late. They deserved peace. She didn't want to be that person — the one who couldn't handle being alone for one night.
She dropped the phone onto the nightstand and pressed her palms over her face. "It's fine," she murmured. "I'm fine."
But she wasn't.
The words didn't help, they were just hollow and meaningless.
Every corner of the tower suddenly felt foreign. It was too empty, too quiet. The silence was oppressive, the kind that made Rumi hear her own heartbeat. It didn't feel like home tonight, it was hollow and cold.
That emptiness made her skin crawl. She wanted to escape it, she needed to.
Her thoughts spiraled back to one person. Celine.
Not so long ago, she would've never considered going to her. Celine wasn't exactly the comforting type. She wasn't cruel, but she was distant, she had her own walls raised high.
But now, after everything they'd been through, Celine knew better. Or so it appeared.
Now she didn't tell Rumi to tone down her emotions. She didn't scold her for being too sensitive or too needy.
Celine had softened, and Rumi noticed. But that didn't mean the change was easy to accept.
Rumi still hesitated. There was always that flicker of doubt when she thought about reaching out, that voice in the back of her mind whispering: don't be ridiculous, you're grown, you don't need this.
And yet…
She needed someone. The warmth of their presence. Even if she was telling herself she was safe, she didn't feel safe.
But when she thought of Celine now, her heartbeat slowed just a little. Her body, restless moments ago, almost relaxed. Her mind had learnt to associated that woman’s presence with safety.
And she needed it now. Desperately.
Rumi hugged her knees to her chest, pressing her forehead against them. She didn't know if it was childish or pathetic or both, but she didn’t care anymore.
She wanted to be held. She wanted to be told it was okay.
˜”*°•.˜”*°• ■ •°*”˜.•°*”˜
Celine jerked awake with a sharp inhale, her heart slamming against her ribs as if trying to break free. When her body sagged back against the mattress, she didn’t move for a long moment. Her eyes stared into the darkness of her room, unfocused, still seeing the remnants of the dream — the collapse of the world, Rumi'ss body.
Would there even be a body to hold?
She squeezed her eyes shut.
No. She shouldn't think about that. Why would she even let her mind go there?
Her hand rose shakily to her forehead, sliding down to cover her eyes. Her breaths came unevenly despite her attempts to steady them, and the ache in her chest refused to ease.
She needed to move. Maybe that would wash away those image from her mind.
Celine pushed the blanket aside and sat up. Her limbs felt heavy, as though she'd run for miles. A familiar exhaustion. The kind that followed the nightmares she never spoke about.
She forced her breaths deeper, steadier, as she walked out into the hallway. The floor was cold under her feet as she shuffled through the house. It was late — the world outside was silent save for the occasional noises of some animals. The faint moonlight filtering through the window outlined her furniture in soft silver. Everything looked normal. It helped. A little.
In the kitchen, she reached automatically for a glass. Water. That would help. That, and not thinking too hard, not letting her mind circle back to the nightmare, to the unbearable possibility of—
No. Irrational.
But the desperate need was still there, the need to check, to be sure that the dream had only been a fear her brain weaponized against her.
Still, she wasn't going to call Rumi in the middle of the night over something like this, just because she couldn't keep her thoughts in line.
Just another night, she told herself as her shaking hand lifted the glass to her lips. Just another stupid dream. She'd bury the memory. Eventually. She always did.
She turned to head back to her bedroom and the air shifted. The honmoon rippled.
It was faint at first — a subtle shimmer at the edge of her vision. Her instincts reacted before her mind caught up. Her body went rigid, muscles coiled, her heartbeat spiking in her chest.
A swirl of violet smoke bloomed at the far end of the hallway. Celine froze, breath catching. That light, that pulse. She knew it too well. That was how demons appeared.
"Not again," she muttered under her breath, jaw tightening as her gaze darted around for anything within reach. There was no hunter's blade anymore, but she could still defend herself somehow, if she had to.
The smoke slowly began to clear, a figure taking shape within it.
Celine's breath hitched. She took a step back, bracing for an attack, until the haze finally dissolved, revealing not a monster but a familiar face.
"…Rumi?"
The girl blinked at her, sheepish, purple strands of hair sticking out in disarray. "Hi," she said simply, voice small and uncertain.
"Rumi—" Celine gasped, pressing a hand to her chest as the tension drained from her limbs. "I thought you were a demon!"
Rumi tilted her head slightly, her lips twitching. "Technically, I am…"
Celine pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling a long, shaky breath. 'That's not the point," her tone was strained but she wasn't truly angry. "You can't just— appear at people's houses in the middle of the night!"
Rumi shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her shoulders drawn up, eyes darting anywhere but Celine's face, feeling guilty for interrupting her peace. "Sorry," she mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck. "It's just… Mira and Zoey are away, and I—" She faltered, eyes flicking away before meeting Celine's again, hesitant and unsure. "I had a nightmare. That was the quickest way to get here. I didn't mean to scare you."
Celine's expression softened instantly. The irritation fell away, replaced by understanding. It seemed Celine wasn't the only one fighting her own mind at night, and, all things considered, it was strangely convenient that Rumi had come all the way here on her own.
"Oh, sweetheart," Celine murmured, her voice softening. She stepped closer without hesitation, her hands finding Rumi's shoulders before pulling her into an embrace.
Rumi froze for half a second — just long enough for Celine to feel the stiffness in her frame — and then melted forward, her arms coming up to wrap tightly around Celine's back.
Her cheek pressed against Celine's shoulder and she took a deep breath, her whole body easing slightly as she exhaled. The warmth of Celine's arms, the weight of her hold — it was grounding.
Celine's embrace was firm. One of her hands moved to the back of Rumi's head, fingers threading through the soft strands of purple hair. Her nails grazed lightly against Rumi's scalp in slow, absent strokes.
It was soothing. Rumi's breath hitched, then steadied again, her body softening further in Celine's arms. Her eyes fluttered closed as a quiet hum of contentment escaped her throat.
Celine smiled faintly, her own eyes softening. She shifted her weight and began to sway, a small, gentle motion that made them both rock in place — the same way she used to when Rumi was little.
Breathe in. Hold. One, two, three.
Rumi drew in a trembling breath, the familiar scent of Celine filling her lungs — warmth, the fragrance of old wood, and the faint hint of tea leaves.
Breathe out. Four, five, six.
Her shoulders sagged as the air left her lungs. Her body — and slowly, her mind — began to unwind.
She tightened her grip, her fingers curling into the fabric of Celine's shirt, anchoring herself with the physical touch.
Celine held her steady, her own voice quiet and soft. "It's okay, Rumi." She tilted her head slightly, her cheek brushing against Rumi's hair. "Do you want to tell me about that nightmare?"
Rumi didn't answer right away. Her breathing became uneven, her chest fluttering with leftover panic. Celine didn't push — she just stayed there, one hand rubbing gentle circles along Rumi's back, the other resting protectively at the nape of her neck.
When Rumi finally spoke, her voice was faint, rough. "It's… that night." Her fingers dug deeper into Celine’s back, nails biting into the fabric and skin beneath. "The Idol Awards. Zoey and Mira finding out… leaving. There were demons — with their faces — saying all those hateful, hurtful things. I keep seeing it, over and over. It won't stop. And tonight… Zoey and Mira aren’t in the Tower, and I—" Her voice cracked, and she pressed her face harder against Celine's shoulder. "I panicked."
Celine's heart clenched. The night went horribly wrong. And she knew well that she had played her own part in that.
Her brows furrowed as she swallowed the guilt down. Right now wasn't about her.
She smoothed her hand up Rumi's back again. "Zoey and Mira — the real ones — wouldn't say anything like that to hurt you," she murmured. "You know that, right?"
Rumi didn't answer, but her breathing stuttered, a tiny nod brushing against Celine's shoulder.
"They're not gone," Celine continued. "They're just busy. They have their own things to do. You'll see them again soon." Her hand shifted, fingers brushing lightly through Rumi's hair before scratching gently at her scalp. "This isn't like that night. You're not alone."
Rumi wanted to believe that. She wanted to let the words sink in. She tried to engrave them in her mind. She focused on the sound of Celine's voice, the weight of her arms, the heartbeat pressed against her chest.
Maybe just being here, in Celine's arms, was proof enough that this was real, that this wasn't a world where everybody left her.
Rumi kept repeating it in her head, over and over again, like a mantra. They're not gone. They're not gone. You're not alone. You're safe.
Each repetition eased the panic a little more. Her heartbeat began to slow, matching the rhythm of the one pressed against her chest.
The tightness in her body began to loosen. Her muscles softened, her fists unclenched, and the rigid line of her shoulders gave way to exhaustion. Her arms slipped lower, falling into a looser hold around Celine's waist. Rumi shifted slightly, tucking her face closer, her nose brushing against the curve of Celine's neck.
It was comfortable and if not for the fact that they were standing in the middle of the hallway, Rumi might've drifted off right there.
Celine held her quietly, her cheek resting lightly against Rumi's head. But while Rumi was slowly finding calm, Celine's thoughts churned restlessly.
Her child — because no matter how old Rumi got, that's what she would always be — was so painfully broken.
Of course, she had realised it before already, especially back on that horrible night that haunted them both. The way Rumi had begged to die rather than live as a monster she thought she was. It was seared into Celine's memory.
The damage ran deep. It wasn't just that single night or the nightmares. It was years of being told to hide, to suppress, to act stronger than she was.
Now everything was falling apart.
Celine's stomach twisted with guilt. She had been the cause of that. She knew it too well — every sleepless night reminded her of it. Perhaps this was her punishment, her penance.
But still, Rumi was here, clinging to her like she was something safe. Like she was home.
At least now, perhaps not entirely too late, Celine got it right.
"You should go to sleep, Rumi," Celine murmured, voice soft and low, as if any louder sound might startle Rumi.
Rumi made a quiet, sleepy noise, her head still resting against Celine's shoulder. "Can I stay?" she mumbled eventually, eyes closed, her words slurred.
Celine brushed a hand down her back. "Of course. I can get your bed ready."
"No." Rumi's voice came out muffled.
Celine frowned, confused. "No?"
"I want to stay with you."
Celine blinked, caught off guard. The request was something little Rumi would've asked. But Rumi wasn't little anymore. She was grown, strong, capable. But now she looked so small. So tired.
"Alright," Celine said finally, gently pulling back from the embrace. "Let's go."
Rumi rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn, her movements sluggish. She looked utterly exhausted.
Celine guided Rumi down the hall, keeping one steadying hand on her back. Rumi followed without protest, her steps slow and dragging, eyes half-lidded. By the time they reached the bedroom, she looked ready to collapse where she stood.
The moment Celine slipped under the covers, Rumi joined her, curling immediately toward the older woman like it was instinct. They lay on their sides, facing each other at first.
Then Rumi inched closer, until there was no space left between them. Her forehead settled against Celine's collarbone, her arm sliding around her waist to hold on tight, her legs tangled with Celine's.
Celine blinked in disbelief, stunned by the sudden closeness. It wasn't quite what she'd expected but she'd learned by now how clingy Rumi could become once she was given permission to be.
With a small sigh, Celine's arm came around her in turn. Her hand moved slowly up Rumi's back, tracing a soothing path toward her neck before tangling in the soft purple strands of her hair. Her fingers flexed, scratching lightly against Rumi's scalp.
Rumi let out a low, pleased hum. It was comfortable. Warm. Safe.
Her lungs filled again with Celine's scent, the faint notes of wood and tea and something she couldn't quite name but recognised as home. Celine's body was warm and soft, her heartbeat steady beneath Rumi's ear. Rumi's own pulse matching its rhythm.
Her eyelids grew heavy, her breathing deepened, her body relaxing fully for the first time that night.
"Sleep well," Celine murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of Rumi's head.
She lay still, her arm curved around Rumi's back, feeling the faint rise and fall of her breathing.
She stared at the wall, her thoughts wandering. This close, with Rumi's head tucked beneath her chin, it was impossible not to think about how small she used to be. The child who used to clung to her. The girl who wanted so badly to be good, to please her, to be the kind of person Celine would be proud of. And the same girl who had grown up learning that she could only get silence, that strength meant burying everything that hurt.
She brushed her thumb absently over Rumi's shoulder, traceing one of her patterns. Once, those markings terrified her — a reminder of everything she didn't understand, everything she feared might one day take Rumi away. But they were simply a part of her.
Her gaze softened. This was her little Rumi — the girl who had gone through so much, far more than anyone should have to endure. Celine thought of all the years she failed her: the harsh words, the walls she built, the distance she kept because she believed it would protect them both. But it hadn't. All it had done was teach Rumi that love came with conditions.
And then, the memory crept in yet again — that night, the one that wouldn't fade away no matter what. The one her mind replayed over and over, each time twisting the ending into something far worse than what had actually happened.
You knew I was a mistake. Do what you should have done a long time ago.
The sound of Rumi's voice still echoed in Celine's mind.
Her heart clenched painfully. How could she have ever let things get that bad? That her child would rather ask for death than for comfort?
She drew Rumi closer, her hand slipping into the purple strands of her hair, fingers brushing slowly through them. "Never again," she whispered. "You'll never have to feel like that again." Her hand slid down, tilting Rumi's head just enough to see her face. Celine pressed a kiss to her forehead, right over the faint shimmering pattern, then another, lower, where a jagged line crossed her cheek.
She held Rumi almost desperately, more aware than ever that if it hadn't been for a demon, the very thing she hated, she might never have held Rumi again.
˜”*°•.˜”*°• ■ •°*”˜.•°*”˜
Rumi woke slowly, drifting up from the fog of sleep. The first thing she registered was warmth — encompassing, pressed along the full length of her body. Her cheek rested against soft fabric, her body curved around another's, and someone's arm was draped securely around her. Her face was tucked beneath a chin, the gentle rise and fall of a calm breath brushing over her hair.
She inhaled. A familiar scent.
Her muscles loosened instinctively, responding to the comfort without thought. Her fingers were curled loosely in the fabric of a shirt, and in that half-dreaming haze, her mind supplied the simplest explanation:
Mira, she thought at first. Or Zoey.
They had been sleeping together for days now — this warmth was normal and expected.
But when she blinked her eyes open, bleary lashes brushing against unfamiliar fabric, the details didn't match.
This wasn't Mira's pajama top. Or Zoey's.
She shifted slightly, just enough to see wisps of dark and grey hair, the slope of a cheek, a familiar profile but...
Celine.
The memories rushed back at once — the nightmare, the panic, teleporting blindly and ending up at Celine's place, shaking and terrified.
And Celine had… let her stay.
Celine hadn't pushed her away. She hadn't flinched from the patterns crawling across Rumi's skin. She'd held her until Rumi's breathing eased, until her racing heart slowed, until her mind unclenched from its panic.
The realization sparked warmth in Rumi's chest but it was quickly shadowed by doubt. That doubt never truly disappeared, no matter how many gentle moments Celine offered now.
Trust wasn't something Rumi could give freely anymore. Not to Celine.
Celine had been trying — clearly, genuinely — but the memories of distance and avoidance still sat in Rumi's mind. She still half expected something to snap, for the old boundaries to slam back into place. For this closeness to turn out to be an exception rather than a new rule.
Yes, Celine had let her stay. But for how long would that softness last?
How far did "it's alright" stretch before it became "you're too much again"?
Rumi swallowed. Lying here suddenly felt wrong.
And she wasn't a child anymore, she wasn't supposed to cling, or need, or seek comfort so desperately. Celine helped her last night because Rumi had fallen apart. Because she'd had to.
That didn't mean this was welcome at dawn.
So she exhaled quietly, steeling herself. She could avoid the talk if she left now, before Celine woke fully, before she had the chance to put that distance back in place. Rumi had gotten the help she needed. Now she could slip away and avoid whatever disappointment or correction might follow.
She carefully, slowly, began to untangle herself from the warmth around her.
But the moment she eased back even a fraction, the body beside her stirred.
Celine murmured something incoherent, shifting with a sleepy sigh, and then her arm tightened, pulling Rumi firmly back into her.
This time Celine's face pressed into Rumi's chest, her breath warm against the fabric of Rumi's shirt.
"Don't go," Celine mumbled.
Rumi went utterly still, blinking in confusion.
The voice was… pleading. Soft in a way Celine rarely used to be. Vulnerable in a way Rumi had never expected to hear.
She wasn't even sure if Celine was awake enough to know what she'd said.
But the tone alone shattered every expectation Rumi had built to protect herself.
"Don't go…" Celine repeated, voice muffled.
And suddenly it wasn't Rumi who was broken and needing to be held.
It was Celine.
Celine — who had spent years avoiding affection, who kept her distance — was clinging to Rumi now as if the mere idea of her leaving hurt.
Rumi couldn't move. Couldn't even think of pulling away now.
Every assumption, every defensive prediction, cracked and fell apart.
Celine needed her too.
And the warmth blooming in Rumi's chest was impossible to ignore.
Maybe things truly were different now.
Celine's mind drifted in that murky space between sleep and waking — barely conscious, or perhaps simply unwilling to be fully aware. It didn't matter. Even in that haze, she registered the warmth pressed against her, the steady rise and fall of a body that wasn't her own.
More than anything, she registered the heartbeat beneath her ear.
A soft, rhythmic thrum.
Rumi's heartbeat.
A proof. Proof that whatever horrors her mind had conjured in the dead of night — the images, the fears — were not real. Proof that Rumi was here. Not a hallucination, not a mirage of a child she had lost a thousand different ways in her nightmares.
Not another scenario her mind invented to torment her with the things she'd failed to protect.
Celine's hand tightened instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric of Rumi's shirt as if she needed to reassure herself again. Only when her body confirmed the reality — Rumi didn't vanish — did her muscles unclench and her grip loosen.
A slow breath escaped her, trembling even in half-sleep.
Perhaps… this was the first time in years she'd felt anything close to peace.