The lights of Times Square shimmered across the puddles like stage glitter — too loud, too alive. Rumi tugged her jacket tighter, even though the summer air clung like a second skin. Her high collar itched against the faint pulse of the demon markings underneath, but she didn’t loosen it. Not here. Not now.

“Tourist selfie?” Zoey grinned, already aiming her phone at the giant digital billboard displaying their faces mid-dance. Mira just rolled her eyes and muttered something about “fan traps” and “untraceable demon signatures.” But Rumi wasn’t listening.

She’d caught a flicker—someone moving just out of rhythm with the crowd.

She didn’t expect to collide.

It wasn’t dramatic. No spilled coffee or flailing arms. Just a shoulder brush, a pause, and the strangest sensation—like something ancient had sighed inside her.

She turned, ready to mumble a quick apology and get back to watching Mira scold a pretzel vendor, but she stopped. The stranger didn’t flinch from her gaze. They looked… calm. Not dazzled. Not fawning. Just there, grounded, like a tree in a city that had no business growing anything real.

She blinked. Her first instinct: Mask up. Smile. Leave no cracks. But the longer she stood there, the more those practiced lines faltered.

“You okay?” she asked instead, voice dropping into something softer than stage tone.

She almost hated how steady they looked. It made her feel messy. Transparent. Seen.

And she wanted to be seen.

Mira called her name. Rumi turned, caught Zoey flashing a peace sign toward a growing cluster of fans. They were about to get swarmed.

But when she looked back at the stranger, something inside her whispered, not a threat.

Something else whispered, maybe healing.

So she did something reckless.

She reached into her jacket pocket and handed them her manager’s spare backstage pass — the one Bobby said to save for “emergencies.”

Then, as the first scream rose from the crowd, she whispered:

“If you want to know who I really am… find me after the show.”

And just like that, Rumi — demon blood, stage queen, secret blade-wielder — stepped off the path she thought she’d carved for herself.

For once, not chasing fame. Not chasing monsters. Just chasing a feeling she didn’t yet understand.