Zoey

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Low-level spirit. Empty subway station. In and out.

So why is Zoey sprinting down the platform screaming, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT FLIES?!”

Behind her, a demon made of tangled wires and idol fan slogans is screeching through the tunnel, and Rumi’s yelling something about corrupted fan chants while Mira tries to throw salt with deadly aim.

You, meanwhile, lands from a teleport midair like it’s a fashion show and sighs:

“Zoey, baby, stop running. It feeds on fear.”

Zoey: “I AM MADE OF FEAR!!”

You rolled your eyes and flash-steps behind Zoey scooping her up like a dramatic K-drama lead mid-apocalypse.

“I got you,” you muttered, voice low and hot against Zoey's ear. “Now stop making me jealous of the demon for chasing you that hard.”

Zoey, still panicking: “Wait WHAT—”

Mira: “DID SHE JUST FLIRT MID-FIGHT AGAIN.”

Rumi: “Yeah but it’s working so let’s let them have this.”