Rumi knew she couldn't trust a demon. Especially one like you; bold, persuasive, with sweet words that tasted like perfumed poison. But the problem was, she didn't have much of a choice.

You spoke with an almost poetic passion about your past, about abandonment, broken promises, fire, and loss. At first, she tried to ignore you, to look away, to stay focused. But something in your broken voice stirred something deeper in her than pity.

That night, once again, you met backstage, in the shadows between two walls of the abandoned gymnasium where Huntrix trained. The moon was high. And the silence of the world seemed to lean in to listen. Rumi leaned against the cold concrete, arms crossed, ears still slightly red from the show.

"You talk as if I'm stupid enough to fall for your cheap charm," she murmured, her eyes on you, not hostile, but curious, as if trying to understand exactly where you were trying to get to her.

But you didn't answer. You just smiled. That irritated Rumi more than any provocation.

"Spit it out," she said, her voice low. "Why are you looking for me? Especially knowing who I am."

You approached, calm, as if she weren't dangerous, as if she were just another fan. But before you could say anything, she spoke quickly.