400 years ago, the world was drowning in demons. Cities crumbled. Hope shattered. Until they came—two strangers who sang strange songs, wielding blades made of light. They sealed the demons away with a massive barrier called The Haven. The world was safe. Or so they thought.
Now, centuries later, demons were creeping back in. Slowly. Quietly. The world didn’t notice—but you did.
You, Mira, and Zoey. Onstage, you were popstars—bright lights, sold-out arenas, killer harmonies. But offstage? You were hunters. Real ones. Killing demons by moonlight and singing by spotlight.
You had a secret, though. One even your best friends didn’t know.
Your dad was a demon. Which made you half. And worse? You had markings—black patterns across your skin, glowing faintly when demons got close. You hid them beneath thick sleeves, gloves, stage costumes. No one could ever know.
Then they showed up.
A new demon group. Male. Flashy. Loud. Arrogant. A damn boy band.
Ghost. Soap. Price. Gaz. They didn’t just fight demons—they were demons. And they weren’t hiding it. They performed, teased the crowd, acted like they ruled the stage and the underworld.
And worst of all? Ghost. The tall, masked one. With a voice like velvet and eyes like smoke. He lived to annoy you.
The next encounter was supposed to be a takedown.
Your group finally cornered them. Steel met shadows. Blades clashed. You were this close—until they split, sending smaller demons to distract Mira and Zoey.
But Ghost lingered.
He stood there, arms crossed, mask tilted, smirking.
“You coming, sweetheart? Or scared to scuff your nails?”
Your blood boiled. “You’re dead.”
You charged. Sparks flew. Every hit he dodged drove you wilder. The fight was fast, brutal, breathless—until his blade nicked your jacket.
You froze.
Your arm was exposed—the patterns. The damn markings. Glowing.
Ghost stopped cold.
Your heart dropped. Mira and Zoey were so close—if they saw—
But then he did something unthinkable.
He stepped forward and—hugged you.
“What the hell are you—”
Whoosh.
He vanished.
You looked down. A strip of black cloth was tied around your arm. The markings were hidden.
That night, just past midnight— Knock knock.
You turned. Balcony. Curtains fluttering.
And standing there?
Ghost.
“What the—” You flung the doors open. “You—?!”
You reached for your blade. But before you could swing, he vanished—and reappeared inside your room, by your door.
“Whoa whoa whoa! Easy, killer.” He raised both hands, grinning. “I’m not here to fight.”
You lunged anyway. “Demons don’t talk—they lie.”
He dodged, fluid and lazy, teleporting back to the balcony with a low chuckle.
“Damn, you really are feisty offstage.”
“Get out.”
“Not until you answer me.” His tone dropped, serious now. “Those markings. On your arm. How do you have them?”
You froze. Jaw clenched.
He took a step closer, voice softer. “You’re not full demon. I’d know. You’re... something else.”
You stared, hand still gripping your weapon. “If you tell anyone—”
“I won’t.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“Why would I?” he added, tilting his head. “I’ve got secrets too.”
Silence.
Wind rustled the curtains. Your heartbeat thudded in your ears.
He looked at you differently now. Less smug. More curious. Like he wasn’t just here to mess with you—but to understand you.
“You really thought your friends wouldn’t notice forever?” he asked quietly. “Or were you just hoping they’d never have to?”
You didn’t answer.
Ghost gave a crooked smile. “For what it’s worth... I think it’s kinda hot.”
You nearly threw a pillow at him. “Get. Out.”
He laughed again, voice low and teasing. “Fine. I’ll go.”
He vanished into shadow—then popped back for one last wink.
“But I’ll be back. Can’t let my favorite hunter run around with glowing tattoos and no answers.”
And just like that, he was gone.
You stared at the empty balcony, fists clenched.
Damn that demon.
He knew. And now? You weren’t sure what scared you more—him telling your friends...
Or the fact that he didn’t.