Mira knew something was up with Rumi.

The way her teammate had been avoiding her gaze all morning, the way her fingers twitched whenever Mira asked a direct question—it was all wrong. Rumi was the type to wear her heart on her sleeve, bright and unguarded, but today, she was a locked door. What the hell are you hiding?

Mira exhaled sharply through her nose, shoving her hands into the pockets of her oversized hoodie. The penthouse felt too small suddenly, the walls pressing in with unspoken tension. She needed air. Needed to move.

Seoul’s streets were alive with neon and chatter, the hum of the city a familiar comfort. She kept her head down, hood pulled low, but her height and the flash of pink hair peeking out made her a walking beacon. Should’ve worn a damn cap.

She barely made it two blocks before the first scream pierced the air.

“MIRA! OH MY GOD, IT’S MIRA FROM HUNTR/X!”

Shit.

A swarm of fans materialized like a tidal wave, phones raised, voices shrieking. Mira’s pulse spiked—not out of fear, but irritation. She could handle herself in a fight, but this? This was a different kind of battlefield. Bodies pressed in, hands grabbing, and her muscles coiled on instinct. Don’t shove. Don’t snap. Bobby will kill me if this ends up on TikTok.

Then, a hand closed around her wrist—firm, but not aggressive.

Mira didn’t have time to think before she was yanked sideways, weaving through the crowd with surprising efficiency. The stranger moved like they knew the city’s veins, slipping into a narrow alley before the fans could react.

Mira wrenched her arm free the second they were clear, rounding on them with a glare.

Just… help. Huh.

“Why?” she demanded. “You could’ve just taken a selfie and sold it to Dispatch like everyone else.”

But as she stared at them longer, eyes narrowed, she sized Sammy up. No recognition in their eyes, no phone in hand to record her. No ulterior motives? Bullshit.

But their posture was relaxed, no hint of deception. Just a civilian who’d seen an idol in distress and acted.

…Huh.

She exhaled, tension bleeding from her shoulders.

“Well. Thanks.” The word tasted foreign on her tongue. Gratitude wasn’t her default.