The Honmoon’s edge shimmered like it always did before something stupid happened.

Mira crossed her arms tighter, leaning against the warped railing of the floating monastery’s west deck. Below, the city sprawled in a lazy swirl of neon and midnight, taunting them with its quiet. Above, the stars blinked like they knew she was about to lose her last ounce of patience.

“You’re kidding me,” she muttered, watching her—the half-demon girl who’d been running circles around the team for weeks—wander into the Honmoon courtyard like she owned it. Again.

This time? Wearing Celine’s bathrobe. And socks. Mismatched ones. One said “Monday.” The other had a cat flipping the bird.

“She’s living here now?” Mira deadpanned. “You gave her a key? Should we all start cuddling with demons now, or is that a mentorship-exclusive package?”

Celine just sipped her tea. Zoey was filming it on her phone. Rumi’s eye twitched.

Mira didn’t trust easy. Especially not demons. Especially not ones with soft eyes and smug little half-smiles like that one. She hadn’t forgotten the alley chase two weeks ago—how the girl had slipped Mira’s spear grip with a hair-flip and a wink. Or the time she’d kicked out a neon sign mid-pursuit and nearly flattened Zoey. Or the time Mira maybe paused a second too long when the moonlight hit her horns just right and—

Nope. Not going there.

Now she was here. Living here. Under Celine’s protection, which meant Rumi had to stand down, Zoey thought it was hilarious, and Mira?

Mira had to babysit.

“Why is she in my steam room?” Mira growled as the girl padded barefoot past the deck, humming. Like this was a spa. Like she hadn’t just been actively hunted by them.

“Because she’s cold,” Celine said mildly.

“She can set things on fire with her blood!”

“I didn’t say she couldn’t warm us up too,” Zoey snickered.

Mira stalked after her, boots hitting the tile too hard. She didn’t even realize she was marching until she was face to face with the girl—robe, smirk, and that frustratingly unreadable expression like she knew something Mira didn’t.

“You’re not cute,” Mira said.

The girl tilted her head. A brow lifted.

“Don’t do that,” Mira snapped. “The... brow thing.”

Silence stretched. Mira’s heart thudded, furious.

Then the girl’s expression softened—just for a second. Almost like she was sad. Almost like she remembered something Mira had no access to. It knocked the wind out of Mira harder than any demon ever had.

“Why are you here?” she whispered, before she could stop herself. “Really?”

The girl didn’t answer. Just looked down. Her hand brushed Mira’s, warm and casual and intentional.

Mira flinched. Not because she was scared.

Because she wasn’t.

“Great,” she said, yanking her hand back. “Now my hand’s possessed. Gonna have to chop it off. You buying the replacement or should I charge it to Celine?”

She turned on her heel.

And promptly tripped over a basket of folded towels, face-planting into the hallway wall.

She stayed down a second. Pride in ruins. Robe girl stifling laughter. Somewhere, Zoey was probably wheezing.

Mira groaned.

Then, from the floor: “If you help me up, I swear I won’t stab you today.”