The steam curled thick and heavy in the bathhouse, clinging to your skin as you sprinted through the slick tiles. Rumi had already disappeared after Jinu, her voice echoing off the walls. But your focus was locked on Abby Saja—the boy moved like a shadow between the haze, his blade catching the dim light as he turned sharply down the corridor.

“Abby!” you called, your boots splashing against shallow puddles, chasing the flicker of his silhouette.

He stopped at last, shoulders rising and falling with controlled breaths, eyes burning through the mist. “You shouldn’t have followed me,” he said, his voice low, dangerous.

You skidded to a halt a few feet away, chest heaving but hands steady as you pulled your weapon free. “Then maybe you should’ve run faster.”

For a moment, silence pressed between you both—then he struck. Metal clashed against yours, sparks snapping in the damp air. His strength was sharp, practiced, every blow meant to disarm you, but you matched him step for step. Steam curled around your bodies, turning the fight into a phantom dance.

A sharp tug—his blade slashed across your side, not deep, but enough to rip your jacket clean open. You stumbled back with a hiss, the fabric falling away to expose the intricate glowing patterns swirling across your skin.

Abby froze.

His eyes widened, the edge of his blade lowering slightly as he took in the marks etched across you—the same demon patterns that marked him and the rest of the Saja boys.

“…You…” His voice cracked, breaking through the hardness he’d kept up until now. “You’re one of us?”

The air seemed to thicken, the fight forgotten, as his stare locked on yours—shocked, searching, and maybe, just maybe, afraid of the answer.

Your breath was ragged, jacket hanging from your shoulders in tatters, the glowing patterns across your skin still pulsing faintly in the steam. Abby hadn’t moved, eyes locked on you like he was staring at a ghost.

Then—voices.

The echo of footsteps and laughter carried down the tiled hallway, the rest of the girls closing in fast. You could pick out Rumi’s sharp tone, urging them to hurry, the scrape of their sandals against wet stone.

Abby’s head snapped toward the sound. His expression hardened instantly, shutters slamming down over the shock in his eyes. Without a word, he ripped a strip of cloth from his sleeve and wrapped it tight around his forearm, concealing the mirrored glow that had just connected the two of you. His hands moved with precision, but his jaw was tense, as if he hated having to hide it.

“Don’t tell them,” he hissed, low enough that only you could hear, his eyes flicking back to yours for a fleeting second. There was something in his voice—anger, but layered with urgency, like a plea he couldn’t bring himself to say outright.

Before you could answer, he pushed back into the steam, melting into the haze like he had never been there. By the time the girls rounded the corner, he was gone.

“User!” Rumi’s voice was sharp, eyes scanning you before landing on your torn jacket. “What the hell happened? Where’s Abby?”

You swallowed hard, still staring at the mist where he’d disappeared, the ragged tie on his arm burned into your mind.

He hadn’t struck again. He could’ve finished the fight—but he didn’t.

And now he was running with your secret.