Four Hearts One Hunt

The first thing I hear on a Tuesday morning is the sound of Yuna's fist breaking a demon's jaw.

It's a wet crack, like stepping on a beetle the size of a cat. The demon, some kind of lesser fiend with too many elbows and not enough sense, stumbles back into a stack of rotting pallets. I'm watching from the fire escape of a condemned textile factory, my jian already drawn, the blade catching the sickly orange glow of Simurg City's streetlamps.

"You're slowing down, Yuna," I call out, because I can't help myself. Discipline is a virtue. Patience is a virtue. I have both, which is why I waited until the thing was distracted before I even thought about moving.

"Shut up, Ming." Yuna spits blood onto the cobblestones. Not hers. She wipes her mouth with the back of her glove, leaving a red smear across the white leather. Her ponytail's come loose, brown strands sticking to her sweaty neck. "I had him."

"You had him three punches ago. Now you're just showing off."

She grins at me, all teeth and adrenaline, and I feel something twist in my chest that I absolutely refuse to name. The leather jacket she wears is scuffed at the elbows, the white sports bra underneath soaked through with sweat. Her denim shorts have a tear along the left thigh from a claw swipe she didn't quite dodge. She's lean, all muscle and bone and bad decisions, and she moves like violence is a language she was born speaking.

The demon recovers faster than I expected. It lunges, those extra elbows clicking like a swarm of insects, and I'm already moving. My qipao whispers against my thighs as I pivot, the red silk catching the light. Two steps forward, one sidestep, and the jian sings through the air. The blade severs the demon's arm at the elbow. Not the main one. One of the spares.

"Showoff," Yuna mutters.

"Efficient," I correct.

The demon screams, a sound like metal scraping bone. I don't flinch. I learned not to flinch a long time ago, back when I was still learning which end of the sword to hold. Now I hold it like it's an extension of my arm, because it is. The alchemical treatments I've done to the steel make it hum against my palm, a familiar vibration that means it's hungry.

"Behind you," Yuna says.

I don't look. I trust her. That's the thing about fighting alongside someone for three years. You learn their rhythms. You learn that when Yuna says behind you, she means she's already handling whatever's there, and you should focus on the thing in front of you.

The demon in front of me is bleeding from a dozen wounds now, most of them superficial. It's weakening. I can see it in the way its movements stutter, the way its eyes dart toward the alley mouth. It wants to run.

I don't let it.

One more step, a feint to the left, and then the jian goes through its throat. The blade is so sharp that the demon doesn't even realize it's dead for a full second. Then its body collapses, black ichor pooling on the cobblestones, and I step back to avoid getting any on my shoes.

"Messy," I say.

"That's what you get for using that needle." Yuna's already crouched over the other demon, the one she was fighting. It's not moving either. She's checking its pockets. Demons don't usually have pockets, but sometimes they carry things. Trinkets. Bones. The occasional stolen wallet.

"Find anything?"

"Some coins. A button. Half a sandwich." She holds up the sandwich. It's green and fuzzy. "Want it?"

"I'd rather eat my own sword."

"Your loss." She tosses it into the gutter and stands up, stretching her arms over her head. The movement pulls her sports bra tight across her chest, and I look away. Not because I'm embarrassed. Because I'm disciplined. There's a difference.

The guild pays by the head, so we gather the demon corpses and stuff them into the burlap sacks we brought. It's not glamorous work. None of it is. The hunting, the killing, the dragging of demon carcasses through the streets of Simurg City at two in the morning. But it pays the rent on our apartment, and it keeps us in sword polish and boxing gloves, and it means we don't have to sell our bodies or our souls or any of the other things people sell when they're desperate.

Yuna lights a cigarette while I finish tying off the sacks. I don't approve. She knows I don't approve. She does it anyway, blowing smoke rings at the moon, her brown eyes half-closed.

"You're going to die of lung cancer," I tell her.

"I'm going to die of something. Might as well be something I enjoy."

"There are better things to enjoy."

"Like what? Meditation? Green tea? You?" She waggles her eyebrows, and I feel that twist in my chest again, sharper this time.

"Like not dying," I say flatly.

She laughs. It's a good laugh, rough and real, and it makes me want to smile even though I'm supposed to be annoyed. I don't smile. I'm Ming Yue. I don't smile.

We finish up and head back toward the guild hall, dragging the sacks behind us. The streets of Simurg City are quiet at this hour, the kind of quiet that feels like a held breath. The buildings lean inward like they're gossiping about us, their windows dark, their brickwork stained with decades of soot and rain. A stray cat watches us from a fire escape, its eyes reflecting the streetlamps. It doesn't run. Cats in this city know better than to run from things that are already dead.

The guild hall is a squat stone building wedged between a pawn shop and a noodle stand. It's open all night, because demons don't keep business hours. When we push through the door, the bell above it jangles, and the clerk behind the counter looks up from his newspaper.

"Takahashi and Yue," he says, not quite a question. "Two lesser fiends. Class D. That'll be forty silver."

"Forty?" Yuna leans on the counter, her gloves squeaking against the wood. "Last week it was fifty for the same class."

"Last week there were fewer hunters. Supply and demand."

"Supply and demand," Yuna repeats, like she's tasting the words and finding them bitter. "You know what else is supply and demand? My fist and your face."

The clerk doesn't flinch. He's been doing this job too long to flinch. "Forty silver. Take it or leave it."

I take it. Yuna would have argued longer, but I'm tired, and I want to go home, and forty silver is enough for groceries and rent and maybe a new whetstone for my jian. I sign the ledger, pocket the coins, and drag Yuna out before she can start a fight she'll regret.

"Forty silver," she mutters as we walk. "That's insulting. We killed two demons. We almost died."

"We didn't almost die. You almost got scratched."

"Scratched by a demon. That counts."

"Nothing counts unless it actually happens."

She stops walking. I stop too, because I'm not going to leave her standing alone on a dark street at two in the morning. That's not who I am.

"You're always like this," she says. "Always so... precise."

"Precision keeps us alive."

"Precision keeps you alone."

The words hit harder than they should. I don't let it show. I never let it show. But something in my face must change, because Yuna's expression softens, and she reaches out and touches my arm.

"Sorry," she says. "That was... I didn't mean it."

"You did."

"Yeah. I did." She drops her hand. "But I'm sorry anyway."

We walk the rest of the way in silence. The apartment building we share is on the edge of the district, a five-story walk-up with a broken elevator and a landlord who doesn't ask questions. We climb the stairs to the fourth floor, and I unlock the door, and we step inside.

The apartment is small but clean. Two bedrooms, a kitchenette, a bathroom with a shower that only runs hot for ten minutes at a time. The living room has a couch, a coffee table covered in books, and a window that looks out over the city. Naya's already here, sprawled across the couch with her feet up, scrolling through something on her phone. Her afro is a dark halo around her head, and her jewelry clinks softly as she shifts to look at us.

"You're back late," she says. "I was starting to think a demon ate you."

"Demons don't eat us," Yuna says, flopping onto the couch next to her. "We eat demons."

"That's not true. You don't eat demons."

"Metaphorically."

"That's not metaphorical either. That's just incorrect."

Yuna throws a pillow at her. Naya catches it without looking, her eyes still on her phone. She's wearing her black hoodie, the hood down, and jeans that are more holes than fabric. Her magic jewelry glints in the lamplight, rings and bracelets and a necklace that hums with a low, constant energy. I can feel it from across the room, a faint buzzing against my skin. Alchemy and witchcraft don't always get along, but I've learned to tolerate it. Mostly.

"Where's Kikyou?" I ask.

"Bathroom. She's been in there for an hour."

"She's always in there for an hour."

"She's mysterious. Mysterious people take long baths."

I hang my jian on its hook by the door and kick off my shoes. My feet ache. My shoulders ache. Everything aches, but it's a good ache, the kind that comes from a job well done. I go to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water, then another. Hydration is important. Discipline is important. I'm starting to sound like my mother.

The bathroom door opens, and Kikyou steps out in a cloud of steam. She's wearing her kunoichi shozoku, the black fabric clinging to her curves, and her long amethyst hair is wet and loose around her shoulders. Her fox ears twitch as she sniffs the air, and her yellow eyes, with their fox-like pupils, find mine.

"Demon blood," she says. "Class D. Two of them. You fought near the river."

"How do you know it was near the river?"

"The smell. The river demons have a different scent. More... fishy."

I don't ask how she knows what fishy demons smell like. Some questions aren't worth the answers.

"Did you eat?" I ask instead.

"I ate before you got here. There's leftover rice in the fridge."

"Thank you."

She nods and pads over to the couch, where she curls up in the corner, her tail wrapping around her legs. Naya reaches over and strokes it absently, and Kikyou's ears flatten in pleasure. It's a strange thing to watch, a witch petting a kunoichi's tail, but this is our life. Strange is normal. Normal is strange.

Yuna's already raiding the fridge. She pulls out the leftover rice and eats it cold, standing over the sink, her gloves still on. I want to tell her to take them off. I want to tell her that eating with boxing gloves is unsanitary and also just weird. But I'm tired, and she's happy, and I don't want to start another argument.

"I'm going to shower," I say.

"Don't use all the hot water," Naya calls after me.

"I never use all the hot water."

"You used all the hot water last week."

"That was Yuna."

"It was not me," Yuna says through a mouthful of rice.

"It was definitely you."

The bathroom is still steamy from Kikyou's bath, and it smells like her, something floral and wild. I undress quickly, folding my qipao and setting it on the counter, and step into the shower. The water is lukewarm at best, but it's enough. I wash the demon blood off my hands, scrub the grime from under my nails, and let the water run over my face until I can breathe again.

When I get out, I wrap myself in a towel and look at my reflection in the mirror. Gray eyes stare back at me. Gray like storm clouds. Gray like the sky before it rains. My black hair is still in its dual braided hoops, though they're a little frayed from the fight. I'll have to redo them before bed.

I dry off, pull on a clean shirt and shorts, and head back to the living room. Yuna's on the couch now, her head in Naya's lap, her gloves finally off. Naya's running her fingers through Yuna's hair, untangling the knots, and Kikyou's watching them with half-lidded eyes. It's a peaceful scene. Domestic. The kind of thing you wouldn't expect from four women who spend their nights killing demons.

But that's the thing about us. We're not just hunters. We're people. We're friends. We're... something more than friends, though none of us have ever said it out loud.

I sit down on the floor, my back against the couch, and close my eyes. The city hums outside the window, a low, constant noise that never really goes away. Simurg City. It's a shithole, honestly. Corrupt, dirty, dangerous. But it's our shithole. We've made a life here, the four of us. A weird life, a violent life, but a life.

"You're thinking too loud," Yuna says.

"I'm not thinking at all."

"Liar."

I open my eyes and look at her. She's smiling at me, that same grin from earlier, the one that makes my chest hurt. I don't smile back. I can't. But I want to.

"Hey," Naya says, her voice softer now. "Did you hear about the new hunter?"

"What new hunter?"

"The one everyone's talking about. A demon hunter. Supposed to be the best in the city."

I frown. "We're demon hunters."

"Not like this guy. He's... different. They say he uses a whip made of rose thorns."

"A whip?"

"Yeah. And they say he's beautiful. Like, really beautiful. Like, 'make you forget your own name' beautiful."

Yuna snorts. "Nobody's that beautiful."

"Apparently he is. His name's Ren."

The name hangs in the air, and I feel something shift inside me. Something I can't name. Something I don't want to name. I look at Yuna, and she's looking at me, and I can see the same thing in her eyes. Curiosity. Interest. Something else.

"We should find him," Yuna says.

"Why?"

"Because if he's as good as they say, we could learn something. And if he's not..." She shrugs. "We could teach him something."

Naya laughs. "You just want to meet a pretty boy."

"So? You don't?"

"I didn't say that."

Kikyou's ears twitch. "I've heard of him," she says quietly. "He's real. And he's dangerous."

"Dangerous how?"

"He hunts demons. Real ones. Not the lesser fiends we deal with. The kind that can think. The kind that can plan. He's been doing it for years, and he's still alive. That makes him dangerous."

I think about that. A man who hunts thinking demons. A man who wields a whip of rose thorns. A man who's still alive after years of doing something that should have killed him a hundred times over. He sounds like a fool. Or a legend. Or both.

"We should find him," Yuna says again, and this time it's not a suggestion.

"Tomorrow," I say. "Tonight, we rest."

She nods, and I close my eyes again, and the city hums around us, and somewhere out there, a man with a rose thorn whip is killing demons, and I don't know it yet, but he's about to change everything.

The next morning, I wake up to the smell of burnt toast.

It's not a good smell. It's the kind of smell that makes you question your life choices, specifically the choice to live with three other women who can't cook. I lie in bed for a minute, staring at the ceiling, trying to decide if I'm actually awake or if this is some kind of demon-induced nightmare. Then I hear Yuna yell "Fuck!" from the kitchen, and I know it's real.

I get up, redo my braids, and shuffle into the living room. Yuna's standing over the toaster, holding a piece of charcoal that used to be bread. Naya's sitting at the table, drinking coffee and looking amused. Kikyou's nowhere to be seen, which means she's either still asleep or already gone. With Kikyou, it's hard to tell.

"Morning," I say.

"The toaster's broken," Yuna says.

"The toaster's not broken. You just don't know how to use it."

"I know how to use a toaster. You put the bread in, you push the button, you wait."

"And then you take it out before it turns to charcoal."

She glares at me. I take the charcoal from her hand and throw it away, then put two fresh slices in the toaster and push the button. I stand there, watching it, because apparently I'm the only one in this apartment who understands the concept of timing.

"Where's Kikyou?" I ask.

"Gone," Naya says. "Left a note."

She slides a piece of paper across the table. I pick it up and read it. Kikyou's handwriting is small and precise, like everything else about her.

Went to scout. Heard the hunter was seen near the old cathedral. Will report back.

"Scout," Yuna repeats. "She's scouting. For a man."

"She's scouting for information," I say, though I'm not sure I believe it.

"Same thing."

The toast pops up, perfectly golden. I butter it and sit down at the table, and for a minute, we're just three women eating breakfast, and everything feels normal. Then Naya's phone buzzes, and she looks at it, and her eyebrows go up.

"What?"

"It's from the guild. There's a hunt. Class C. Multiple targets."

"Multiple?"

"Three. Maybe four. They're not sure."

Yuna's already on her feet, grabbing her gloves. "Finally. Something worth doing."

"Class C is dangerous," I say. "We usually do D."

"Then we'll be careful."

"You're never careful."

"I'll be careful today."

I want to argue, but I'm already standing up, already reaching for my jian. This is what we do. This is who we are. The hunt is the hunt, and we don't turn it down.

We gear up and head out, and the city is different in the daylight. Less threatening. More alive. Street vendors hawk their wares, children run through the alleys, and the sun actually manages to break through the smog for a few minutes. It's almost pretty. Almost.

The guild hall is busier than it was last night. Hunters mill around, checking the job board, comparing notes, sharpening weapons. We push through to the counter, and the same clerk from last night hands us the details.

"Class C. Three confirmed, possibly four. They've been spotted near the old cathedral. Previous hunters who took the job haven't returned."

"Great," Yuna mutters. "We're the cleanup crew."

"You're the only crew," the clerk says. "Everyone else is busy."

"Busy doing what?"

"Not dying."

I take the file and flip through it. The demons are described as "humanoid, intelligent, capable of speech." That's never a good sign. Lesser fiends are basically animals. They operate on instinct. But intelligent demons? Those are the ones you have to worry about. Those are the ones that can plan.

"Let's go," I say.

We leave the guild hall and head toward the old cathedral. It's on the other side of the city, in a district that's been abandoned for years. The buildings there are crumbling, the streets are cracked, and the only people who go there are hunters and fools. And sometimes, hunters who are fools.

"This is a bad idea," Naya says as we walk.

"You say that about everything."

"Because everything is a bad idea."

"She has a point," Yuna says.

I don't respond. I'm focused on the mission. That's what I do. I focus. I plan. I execute. It's kept me alive this long, and I'm not about to stop now.

The old cathedral looms ahead, a Gothic monstrosity of black stone and broken stained glass. It's been abandoned for decades, ever since the demon outbreak of '47, and the city never bothered to tear it down. Now it's a haven for things that don't like sunlight. Things that don't like people. Things that we're about to kill.

We approach from the east, keeping to the shadows. The cathedral's main entrance is boarded up, but there's a side door that's been forced open, the wood splintered and stained with something dark. Blood, probably. Old blood. I can smell it from here.

"Three demons," I say quietly. "Maybe four. We go in together, we stay together, we don't split up."

"What if we have to split up?" Yuna asks.

"Then we don't."

"That's not a plan."

"It's the plan."

She sighs but doesn't argue. I push open the door and step inside, and the darkness swallows us whole.

The cathedral is bigger on the inside than it looks from the outside. That's not a metaphor. It's actually bigger. Demonic architecture does that sometimes. The ceiling stretches up into infinity, the pews are arranged in a spiral that hurts to look at, and the altar at the far end is covered in symbols I don't recognize. The air is thick with the smell of incense and rot, and somewhere in the darkness, something is breathing.

"Can you see anything?" Yuna whispers.

"Not yet. Give it a minute."

My eyes adjust slowly. The stained glass windows are mostly broken, but a few still hold their shape, filtering the sunlight into fractured colors. Red. Blue. Green. They paint the floor in patterns that shift as the sun moves, and I realize with a start that the patterns aren't random. They're a map. A map of something.

"Look," Naya says, pointing.

I follow her finger and see it. A figure, crouched on one of the pews, watching us. It's humanoid, tall and thin, with skin the color of old paper and eyes that glow like embers. It doesn't move. It just watches.

"One," I say.

"Where are the others?"

"Behind us."

I turn, and there they are. Two more, identical to the first, emerging from the shadows like they were always there. They're smiling. Demons don't smile. It's not a good sign.

"Hunter," one of them says. Its voice is like gravel being poured into a glass. "How... delicious."

"Disgusting," Yuna corrects. "You're disgusting."

The demon tilts its head. "We've eaten three hunters this week. You'll be the fourth."

"Fourth?" Yuna cracks her knuckles. "I'm not even the first."

She launches herself at the demon before I can stop her, and the fight begins.

It's chaos, but it's controlled chaos. Yuna takes the one on the left, her fists a blur of motion. Naya's already weaving a spell, her jewelry glowing with a sickly green light. I draw my jian and face the demon in front of me, the one who spoke, the one who thinks he's going to eat me.

He's fast. Faster than the lesser fiends I'm used to. He dodges my first strike, then my second, then my third. His claws scrape against the stone floor, sending sparks into the air. I step back, reassess, and try a different approach.

"You're strong," he says. "Stronger than the others."

"I've been told."

"But not strong enough."

He lunges, and I pivot, and his claws rake across my arm. It hurts. It always hurts. But I don't let it slow me down. I've been hurt before. I'll be hurt again. Pain is just information.

I feint left, then strike right. The jian catches him across the chest, and he screams, a sound like breaking glass. Black ichor sprays across the pews, and he stumbles back, clutching the wound.

"Bitch," he hisses.

"Alchemist," I correct. "There's a difference."

I finish him with a thrust to the heart, and he dissolves into ash, leaving nothing behind but a faint smell of sulfur. One down. Two to go.

Yuna's already taken care of hers. She's standing over the corpse, breathing hard, her gloves stained with ichor. Naya's still fighting hers, her spells lighting up the darkness in bursts of green and purple. Kikyou's nowhere to be seen, which means she's probably behind the demon, waiting for the right moment.

The demon Naya's fighting is smarter than the others. It dodges her spells, weaves through the pews, tries to flank her. But Naya's not alone. I see a flash of amethyst hair, and then Kikyou is there, her blade sinking into the demon's back. It doesn't even have time to scream.

"Took you long enough," Naya says.

"I was waiting for the right moment."

"You were watching."

"I was assessing."

"Same thing."

Kikyou pulls her blade free and wipes it on the demon's robe. Her fox ears twitch, and she looks at me. "There's one more."

"Where?"

"Up there."

She points to the ceiling, and I look up, and I see it. A fourth demon, bigger than the others, clinging to the vaulted ceiling like a spider. It's been there the whole time. Watching. Waiting.

"Shit," Yuna says.

The demon drops.

It lands in the center of the nave, cracking the stone floor, and rises to its full height. It's at least eight feet tall, with horns curling from its skull and eyes that burn like coals. It's holding something in its hand. A whip. A whip made of rose thorns.

"That's..." Naya trails off.

"I know," I say.

The demon cracks the whip, and the sound echoes through the cathedral like a gunshot. "You killed my children," it growls. "Now you'll die."

"Your children were assholes," Yuna says.

The demon roars and charges, and we scatter. I roll to the left, Yuna to the right, Naya and Kikyou backward. The whip cracks again, missing my head by inches, and I feel the wind of it against my cheek. That thing could take my eye out. That thing could take my head off.

"Any ideas?" Yuna yells.

"Kill it!"

"Great idea! How?"

"I'm working on it!"

I circle around, trying to find an opening. The demon is fast, faster than anything its size should be, and the whip gives it reach. I can't get close without getting hit. I need a distraction.

"Naya! Can you blind it?"

"On it!"

She raises her hands, and a burst of light explodes from her palms, bright enough to make me wince. The demon screams, clawing at its eyes, and I take my chance. I run forward, jian raised, and drive the blade into its chest.

It doesn't die.

It swats me away like I'm a fly, and I hit the wall hard enough to see stars. My jian clatters to the floor. The demon turns toward me, its eyes still smoking, and raises the whip.

"Not so tough now," it says.

"Fuck you."

"Original."

The whip comes down, and I close my eyes, and then I hear a sound I've never heard before. A crack. A hiss. A scream.

I open my eyes, and the demon is on fire.

No, not fire. Something else. Something that glows like embers and smells like roses. The demon is writhing, clawing at its own skin, and standing behind it, holding a whip of his own, is a man.

He's tall, with long black hair that falls past his shoulders and green eyes that catch the light like leaves in sunlight. He's wearing a green tunic with blue geometric patterns, light armor on his shoulders and forearms, and he moves like water. Like he's been doing this his whole life.

The demon turns to face him, and the man cracks his whip again. The rose thorns bite into the demon's flesh, and it screams, and it burns, and it dies.

Just like that.

The man lowers his whip and looks at us. At me. His eyes are calm. Curious. And something else. Something I can't name.

"You're hunters," he says. It's not a question.

"Who are you?" Yuna demands.

He smiles. It's a small smile, barely there, but it changes his whole face. "My name is Ren. I've been tracking this one for three days."

"Three days?"

"It's been busy."

I stare at him. At his whip. At the way he stands, relaxed but ready, like he could kill a demon at any moment. He's beautiful. Naya was right. He's really beautiful.

And I hate him for it.

"You stole our kill," I say.

He looks at me, and his smile grows. "You were about to die."

"I had it under control."

"You were on the ground with a demon about to whip you to death."

"That's... under control adjacent."

He laughs. It's a good laugh, warm and real, and it makes me want to hit him. Or kiss him. Or both. I don't know. I'm confused, and my arm hurts, and there's demon ash in my hair.

"I'm Ren," he says again, offering me his hand. "And you are?"

I take his hand. His grip is firm, his palm calloused. "Ming Yue."

"Ming Yue. That's a beautiful name."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't flirt with me. I'm not interested."

"I wasn't flirting. I was stating a fact."

"Same thing."

He laughs again, and I feel that twist in my chest, the same one I feel when Yuna smiles at me. This is bad. This is very bad.

Yuna appears at my side, her gloves off, her hand extended. "Yuna Takahashi. I'm the one who actually killed the demons."

"One of them," I correct.

"Most of them."

Ren shakes her hand. "Impressive. I saw you fight. You're good."

"I know."

Naya and Kikyou join us, and introductions are made. Naya's flirty, Kikyou's mysterious, and Ren takes it all in stride. He's calm. Too calm. Like he's been through this before. Like he's used to women falling all over him.

I don't fall. I stand.

"We should go," I say. "The guild will want a report."

"I'll walk you," Ren offers.

"We don't need an escort."

"I know. But I'd like to."

I want to say no. I should say no. But Yuna's already nodding, and Naya's already smiling, and Kikyou's already looking at him with those fox eyes of hers. I'm outnumbered.

"Fine," I say. "But don't talk."

"I can't promise that."

"Then don't talk much."

He nods, and we leave the cathedral together, five hunters walking through the streets of Simurg City. The sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, and the city is waking up for the night. Vendors are closing their stalls, bars are opening their doors, and somewhere in the distance, a demon is probably plotting someone's death.

But right now, in this moment, everything feels... right. Like this is where we're supposed to be. Like this is the beginning of something.

I don't know what's coming. None of us do. But I can feel it, a pressure in the air, a tension in my chest. Something's about to happen. Something big.

And I'm not sure I'm ready for it.

We walk in silence for a while, the five of us, and I find myself watching Ren out of the corner of my eye. The way he moves. The way he breathes. The way his hand rests on his whip, ready to strike at any moment. He's dangerous. I know that. But there's something else there too. Something soft. Something sad.

"You're staring," Yuna whispers.

"I'm observing."

"Same thing."

I elbow her, and she laughs, and Ren glances back at us with a questioning look. I ignore him. I'm good at ignoring things. It's one of my many talents.

We reach the guild hall, and Ren stops at the door. "I'll wait here," he says. "I don't like guilds."

"Why not?"

"They ask too many questions."

He doesn't elaborate, and I don't ask. Some things are better left unknown. We go inside, file our report, collect our payment. The clerk raises an eyebrow when we mention Ren, but he doesn't say anything. He just hands us our silver and waves us off.

When we come back out, Ren is still there, leaning against the wall, watching the street. He looks up when he sees us, and that smile returns, the one that makes my chest hurt.

"Where to now?" he asks.

"Home," I say.

"Can I come?"

"No."

"Yes," Yuna says.

I glare at her. She shrugs. "What? He's interesting."

"He's a stranger."

"He's a demon hunter. We're demon hunters. We have things in common."

"We have nothing in common."

"We have you in common," Naya says, and I feel my face heat up.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't."

I want to argue, but I'm tired, and my arm still hurts, and Ren is looking at me with those green eyes, and I can't think straight. So I do the only thing I can do. I turn around and start walking.

"Fine," I call over my shoulder. "But he sleeps on the couch."

"That's all I ask," Ren says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

We walk back to the apartment, the five of us, and the city hums around us, and I don't know what's going to happen next. But I know it's going to be something. Something big. Something that changes everything.

And I'm not sure I'm ready.

But I'm going to find out.