Ghost

Tah!

The cane sliced through the air, a sharp whizz reverberating through the courtyard before it struck flesh with a sickening crack. It echoed, loud and unforgiving, leaving a weight in the air that settled heavily on those watching making them flinch, some instinctively clutching their own arms. But the boy taking the beating didn't move. His jaw clenched, breath held tight in his lungs, as he counted silently. One stroke. Two. Three. His eyes, blank, stared ahead. This wasn't new. This pain. This punishment.

It was a ritual.

The routine—was too familiar to scream about anymore.

"That's a pretty solid opening for this chapter," Joy muttered, eyes locked on her laptop screen.

Her fingers hovered hesitantly above the keys, worn from the repeated dance of typing and deleting, and deleting again.

Backspace, backspace, backspace, her eyes, red-rimmed and tired, fought against the blur of characters swimming across the white canvas. The blinking cursor mocked her now, stranded at the end of a lonely paragraph she'd labored over for the past hour.

She was blocked.

She had squeezed out just one paragraph in the last hour.

One.

Writer's block.

A monster every writer knew — but hers was... special.

She leaned back in her chair, exhaling sharply.

"Why is it so silent," she muttered

Unlike most, Joy had a persistent companion. A voice. A persistent, domineering voice inside her head. Not imagined — not entirely. It was always there, always pushing her to write, driving her with a purpose that felt alien and intimate all at once. It guided her like a map she never drew but somehow understood. Every day, a new mission.

The voice pushed her forward, demanding chapters as if she were a soldier completing missions. Each chapter she wrote felt less like creation and more like memory—like she was excavating something long buried, not inventing it. A new piece of her story that demanded to be told.

But ever since The Chameleon chapter, the voice had gone silent.

Now, the paths splintered. The once-clear narrative warped into endless possibilities. Joy felt like a compass without a north star.

The silence was maddening.

Her singular vision fractured, splitting into kaleidoscopic possibilities. What once flowed from her fingers like molten gold now stuttered into confusion. Every word questioned itself. Every path forked into ten more.

She exhaled through her nose, leaning back."The silence is louder than the voice ever was," she whispered.

Then she caught herself glancing at the outline again — the part where she was supposed to return.

"Should I use this chance to reveal her?" Joy's voice was barely audible as she stared at the blinking cursor.

She sank deeper into thought, jaw tightening. "No… It's too early. But I wasn't going to revive her like this."

The thought clawed at her brain, unrelenting.

Her hand found her phone. With a click, the screen blinked awake.10:03 a.m.

Her eyes lingered on the date beneath the clock.

"Did I really think she'd show up today?" she murmured to herself. "I guess his death is still fresh… in both our minds."

She closed her laptop and stood, rubbing her eyes as she crossed the room.

Inside the walk-in closet, rows of designer pieces lined the walls — proof of her lineage, her status. But she reached past the luxury. Past the elegant silks and beaded gowns. She grabbed a simple white tee, gray sweatpants, and her favorite worn-in sneakers. Comfort armor.

She moved.

At the full-length mirror, she paused—not to fix her hair or inspect her outfit—but to face the reflection staring back. Her gaze lingered on her features. She studied her face. Her mother's face, mostly. But her eyes… Maybe his.

"I can see a bit of him," she muttered. "But I look more like her, to be honest."

A ping drew her gaze back to the phone. Awesome chapter as always, read the notification. A faint smile flickered on her lips before vanishing. That one sentence was enough to lift her spirits — if only a little.

She pocketed the phone and stepped into the corridor.

The mansion buzzed with activity—staff moved briskly, voices murmured down the marble halls. It was a special day for the Li family… or what remained of it. Yet the eldest, now a Seo by name, was conspicuously absent.

"She's probably busy with her other family," Joy muttered, stepping through the back exit into the perfectly manicured garden.

Tall walls cradled the estate like a fortress. Fountains danced, flowers bloomed with almost arrogant beauty. A third-generation chaebol, born into everything. And yet the name Seo felt like a brand she never asked for.

AirPods in. Playlist queued. Evoque's new mini-album-Unmasked pulsed through her ears as she jogged past sculpted hedges and iron gates. Their music was bold, textured, confident—exactly what she needed.

The streets of Hannam-dong welcomed her, tree-lined and pristine. She crossed the Han River via the Hannam Bridge, the wind kissing her face, the world shifting beneath her sneakers.

By the time she reached Gangnam, 45 minutes later, her muscles ached, and sweat clung to her back. A small 7-Eleven on K-pop Avenue caught her eye. She ducked in.

Banana milk. Gimbap. Tteokbokki. Cup noodles.

A small table sat outside, and she claimed it like an old friend. Joy ate quietly, watching the city swirl around her while Evoque's vocals filled the space in her head.

Each track was perfect. Four girls—raw, vibrant, talented. Their music was a balm, washing away the heaviness of the day.

With one hand wrapped around the warm cup of ramen, she opened her publishing site. Not to write—but to escape. She clicked on a trending romance novel. Light reading.

But then… her old story surfaced. An unfinished love story between two teenagers, innocent and flawed. She hadn't touched it in years.

She clicked it open.

The first chapter hit like an old scent from childhood—nostalgic, imperfect, but heartfelt.

A good old enemies to lovers story.

It wasn't great. Plain characters. A generic plot. But it was hers. Her very first.

And there it was again—castinshadow93, the only constant through her chaotic writing journey. One reader. Always there. Always kind. Even when the rest tore her stories apart.

Joy smiled again. This time longer. Warmer.

She leaned back into the cold metal chair, the scent of instant noodles and the distant hum of traffic weaving into the rhythm of her slowing heartbeat. Her eyes, half-lidded in fatigue, lazily drifted from her screen toward the glass doors of the convenience store.

A figure had just entered.

She looked young—no older than Joy herself—but wrapped in the kind of clothes only Seoul's fashion-forward elite dared to wear: oversized hoodie, cargo skirt, knee-high socks, designer sneakers. A typical social media trend made real. Stylish, no doubt. But something was off. 

There was a disconnect.

She moved like someone trying not to be seen—cap pulled low, an oversized mask hiding most of her face. Despite the trendy outfit that screamed Gen-Z fashion, her posture didn't match. Her walk lacked confidence, her head hung low, and her presence felt deliberately muted rather than attention-grabbing.

Her gait was slow, hesitant. Worn. It was the kind of walk that belonged more to someone burdened than someone trying to show off.

Joy squinted, catching just a glimpse of her eyes beneath the brim of the cap. Eyes dark with exhaustion and something else — emptiness.

Joy's breath hitched.

It couldn't be.

Serin.

Baek Se-ri. The leader of Evoque. Her favorite idol.

The realization hit her like a quiet explosion in her chest. Even though most of her face was hidden, Joy would have recognized those eyes anywhere. She had seen them on screens, in music videos, on posters, in behind-the-scenes footage — eyes that used to sparkle with charisma, fire, and confidence. Now, they were dim.

This version of Serin was… withered. Faded. Nothing like the gleaming star Joy knew. The Serin she admired didn't shuffle like a ghost. She floated on stage. She owned space.

Joy instinctively reached for her phone, her fingers hovering — maybe to check social media, confirm her hunch. But she hesitated. Serin wasn't acting like an idol in public. She was trying not to be noticed. And Joy wasn't about to become one of those fans — the kind that blurred the line between admiration and obsession.

So she forced herself to look away. Back to her screen. Back to the warmth of instant noodles and her half-finished gimbap. But her curiosity refused to be silenced.

Serin had vanished behind the rows of shelves, disappearing into the interior of the store like a shadow. Still, Joy's eyes lingered on the glass, hoping to catch one more glimpse — something to prove she wasn't just imagining it.

Maybe it wasn't her. Joy told herself that more than once. What if she was wrong? What if she went inside and looked like some obsessive sasaeng fan? Still, her appetite for both food and fiction dulled. She picked at her gimbap, her thumb scrolling through novels aimlessly.

A few minutes later, Serin re-emerged. Joy's breath hitched.

A bottle of soju. A pack of cigarettes. Some random snacks.Stress relief in tangible form.

What the hell...?

Joy's stomach twisted.

She's seventeen… no, eighteen Korean age, Joy thought. She's not supposed to even buy that stuff.

The unease twisted into something darker, heavier. But Joy stayed still, eyes wide, fingers tight around her chopsticks.

Moments passed. Joy finished her food, threw away her trash, and stepped back onto the street, the cool breeze brushing against her face.

Then it happened.

A cigarette dropped from above—just one, lazily tumbling from the sky—and her eyes instinctively followed it upward.

A silhouette. Rooftop. Motionless.

Her pulse skipped.

No... no, it couldn't be…

Her breath caught.

Her feet moved before her brain could stop them.

She burst into the building, bolting up the stairwell. Flight after flight blurred past her in a dizzying sprint. Her legs burned. Her lungs screamed. But she didn't stop.

Not again.

Not on her birthday.

Not another loss.

She reached the rooftop and froze.

Serin was there. Standing at the edge. One foot lifted slightly off the ledge, swaying with the wind. The cigarette trembled between her fingers, lit but barely smoked.

"Stop!" Joy's voice cracked, raw from the run and panic. "Please—just… just calm down!"

Serin barely glanced back. She lifted the cigarette to her lips, trying to take a puff like she'd seen in dramas. Instead, she coughed—violently—clearly unaccustomed to the act.

Joy crept closer, her arms out slightly as if approaching a wounded animal.

"Another failure," Serin muttered, letting the cigarette fall from her fingers.

She looked up at the sky with a strange peace, then whispered: "It's time."

And then—she stepped forward.

"No!" Joy lunged forward, hands outstretched, grabbing onto Serin just as her foot left the edge.

Joy's grip barely held. Serin dangled, suspended above the streets below, and Joy's arms screamed with the weight.

Her grip was weak. Serin's full weight was pulling her forward. Her legs scrambled for leverage. Her palms burned from the force. She wasn't strong enough to pull her up — not alone.

"Help me!" Joy begged. "You have to help me help you!"

Serin's eyes were blank. Her fingers remained still. "Why bother?" she muttered. "You don't know me."

"I don't have to!" Joy's voice cracked. "You're Serin. You're the one whose songs got me through the worst year of my life. You're the reason I didn't give up!"

Serin chuckled darkly, a hollow sound. "That's not me. That's a mask. You love a lie."

"I don't care!" Joy cried. "You could be a complete mess underneath—I still care! You think your fans only love your perfect self? Then you don't understand how much you mean to us!"

She tried everything. Words that felt powerful in books, in movies. Words like hope, future, family. But none of them landed. Serin just looked up with a bitter smirk.

"Mind your own damn business." Serin snapped as she tried to slip again.

"No," Joy whispered. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to be my favorite person and just... disappear."

Her voice cracked again — but now it was anger. Desperation.

"How dare you try to murder my favorite idol!" she yelled. "Do you have any idea how much money I've spent on you? How many hours I've screamed for you, streamed for you, prayed for you? And now you just want to vanish?"

Serin stared. Not with anger. Not with shock. But… surprise.

Something flickered in her face. The faintest shimmer of life.

Interesting. That was the word written across her expression — for the first time in a long while.

"I'm coming up," Serin muttered.

Slowly, painfully, she used her own strength to push herself up. Joy, still gripping tight, helped guide her until finally, finally, they collapsed in a heap on the rooftop, gasping.

The silence after was heavy. Serin looked down, sheepish.

"...Why do you care about me that much?" she asked quietly.

Joy didn't hesitate. She tightened her grip on Serin's hand.

"Because today is my birthday. And I refuse to let someone else I love die today."

Serin flinched. "Love?" she said. "You don't even know me. The real me. The person you see onstage — that's a lie. A persona. Manufactured."

"I know what you gave me. That's enough."

"The version you know is fake. She smiles for the cameras. She's strong and pretty and perfect. But me…" Serin trailed off, swallowing thickly. "I'm none of those things."

Joy took a deep breath. " Your debut song? Begins? You sang Begins, didn't you? You meant it. Or at least a part of you did. It felt like someone reached into my soul and gave it a melody. That part helped me. Let me return the favor."

Serin blinked.

"Let me help you now. I don't know the real you yet... but I'd like to. Please."

There was a long pause. Then Serin stood, brushing off her knees.

"Fine," she said. "You have one day. Convince me this world is worth sticking around for. If you can... I'll live. If not..."

Joy nodded. "Then let's get started."

They made their way down the stairs. At the curb, Joy flagged down a cab. The ride was quiet — except for soft whispers between Joy and the driver about where to go, and Serin's one hesitant question:

"Do you… have any gum?"

Joy smiled. She popped her AirPods case open and handed Serin the left bud. "No gum. But I have something better."

The soft intro of Evoque's mini-album began to play.

"Really?"

Joy shrugged. "I figured it might remind you of who you are."

Joy had hoped the shared music would act as a bridge—Evoque's songs were all they had in common, a lifeline she clung to. Maybe, just maybe, Serin would open up. Tell her about the recording sessions, the late-night lyric rewrites, or the arguments over choreography. Something to spark life.

But the girl beside her might as well have been carved from ice. Serin sat stone-still, earbud in, face blank, as if the melodies were just white noise in a world turned grayscale. Her arms folded, gaze fixed out the window.

Joy hoped that the songs would loosen her lips even a little but Serin didn't react. No tapping fingers, no swaying. Just… silence.

The air in the cab was thick, filled with a thousand unsaid things. Joy's heart thudded awkwardly against her ribs as she tried to fight off the growing unease. Had she made a mistake?

Then, finally, after twenty-five minutes of stillness, the taxi slowed.

Joy brightened. "We've arrived!" she announced, practically bouncing in her seat.

Serin blinked and turned. Her eyes narrowed slightly at the bright, pastel-colored entrance just outside the cab.

"An amusement park?" she asked, more confused than curious.

Joy nodded, already halfway out the door. "Yeah. It's my birthday, and I don't have anyone to celebrate it with. So… would you stay? With me?"

Serin paused, staring at her. Her lips parted slightly as if something emotional had tried to surface, but then she shut it down. Her shoulders slumped.

"…Okay," she muttered — less an answer, more a sigh in surrender.

They joined the weekend crowd at the gates, blending into a sea of giggling couples, squealing kids, and friend groups snapping selfies. Their masks—Joy's patterned with cartoon bears, Serin's plain and clinical helped them disappear. Serin kept her cap low, avoiding eye contact, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket.

Joy glanced at her. The idol walked like a ghost, drifting through the noise, untouched by the energy around her.

Joy smiled gently. Not for long.

"I didn't want you to wait in long lines," she explained, flashing VIP access she'd coerc- gently requested a cousin to get last minute. "I figured you're not used to that... idol perks, right?"

Serin gave a small nod, eyes blank.

"So," Joy said brightly, "Where do you want to go first?"

Serin said nothing.

Joy took her hand — a bold move — and tugged gently. "Okay then. First stop: the carousel."

Serin halted mid-step, raising an eyebrow. "You're kidding."

Joy laughed. "Nope. Sometimes the cheesiest places are the only ones where your heart can actually hear itself."

They mounted their rides — Joy on a pearly white horse, Serin on a slightly grumpy-looking black unicorn. The music-box tune played, whimsical and nostalgic. Around them, kids waved at parents and couples leaned close.

Serin gripped the pole like a lifeline, her knuckles pale. Her mask stayed on. Her eyes stayed down.

But Joy caught the flicker of something — a blink, a momentary widening of her gaze as the ride spun, lights dancing across their faces.

When it stopped, Joy stood and stretched dramatically. "Alright. That didn't work. Next up: bumper cars. If you're not laughing by then, I'm calling in a flash mob."

Serin gave a short, dry snort. "God, please don't."

But she followed.

And slowly, the silence cracked.

First a chuckle when Joy got slammed by a seven-year-old in a pink helmet. Then another when Serin herself cornered Joy and rammed her so hard Joy yelped. By the time they hit the rollercoasters, she was screaming into the wind. On the flume ride, they got drenched. Serin's hair clung to her face, her makeup ran slightly — and Joy saw, for the first time, real light behind her eyes.

In the arcade, Serin obliterated a rhythm game with surgical precision.

"Okay. You're terrifying," Joy whispered as Serin hit another perfect combo.

Serin looked over, breathless. "I used to play this during trainee breaks. They said it was a waste of time."

Joy smirked. "They were wrong."

They wandered back outside with cotton candy in one hand, drinks in the other. By now, Serin had taken off her cap. The sky above the castle-themed buildings glowed peach and gold.

They found a bench by the parade route. Music swelled in the distance, and floats rolled by in dreamlike colors.

Joy handed Serin a banana milk and a tornado potato. Serin stared at them, then sat.

For a while, they just listened to the sound of the parade.

Then Serin broke the silence. "So… why?"

Joy blinked. "Why what?"

"Why do all this?" Serin asked softly. "You don't know me."

Joy didn't answer right away. She watched the parade pass — one float, two. Her fingers squeezed the drink in her hand.

"Because I…" she started, then faltered. Too raw. Too vulnerable. She breathed in and changed course mid-sentence.

"Because I want you to be mine."

Serin turned sharply. Her eyes widened behind her mask, and then she laughed — really laughed this time. It burst from her chest unexpectedly, bright and uncontrolled.

Joy's cheeks turned crimson. "Oh my god—I meant, like—platonically! Or maybe not? I don't know what I meant!"

Serin wiped her eyes, still laughing. "You're insane."

Joy groaned and buried her face in her hands. "I knew that would come out wrong."

Serin leaned back on the bench and looked at the sky. Her voice was softer now. "Do your best."

They left the park with the sun low on the horizon. The Han River shimmered as the last light of day reflected off its surface. Everything felt washed in gold and calm.

"Come on," Joy whispered, tugging Serin's sleeve. "One last thing."

They reached a side street in Hongdae, where a small line had formed in front of a photo sticker booth.

Serin eyed it warily. "I look like hell."

Joy turned to her, her voice low but firm. "You look real."

They stepped inside the booth, and for once, Serin didn't flinch at the flash. They made silly faces, drew stars on their cheeks, added cat ears. One shot captured them mid-laugh, masks lowered, eyes crinkled with joy.

Joy scribbled "B-day 2.0" on the screen and hit print.

Later, tucked away in a quiet underground café, they sipped warm drinks and shared a slice of cake. Serin sketched quietly on a napkin, shoulders slightly hunched.

Joy watched her in the dim glow of fairy lights overhead.

"What're you drawing?" she asked.

Serin turned the napkin around. It was a carousel — not the real one, but a slightly messy, dreamlike version. Two girls sat on opposite horses, both facing backwards, laughing.

Joy smiled. "That's us."

Serin nodded. "Yeah. Us… sort of."

Joy's fingers brushed the drawing.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

Serin looked up. Her mask was off now, tucked away in her pocket. Her hair still damp, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes slightly brighter.

"I'm still scared," she said. "About everything."

Joy didn't say, It'll be okay.

She just nodded. "I am too."

-------

The taxi hummed along the streets of Seoul. Outside the windows, neon lights stretched like constellations. Inside, the silence between them had shifted — not empty, not heavy. Just… calm.

Joy looked over at Serin, who stared ahead, head resting against the window.

"You still thinking about… you know," Joy asked gently, "the ledge?"

Serin didn't answer for a moment.

Then she said, "No. Not tonight."

Joy didn't press further. She just smiled, turned up the music slightly — Evoque's Begins — and let the melody carry them forward.

Their final destination wasn't part of any "girl date" plan. No neon lights. No music. No sparkles.

The taxi stopped in front of a low, solemn building, gray stone under an overcast sky. Serin looked around, her brows knitting together.

"Where are we?" she asked.

Joy stepped out slowly, her eyes somber now. "A memorial hall."

Serin's head tilted slightly. "Odd choice for a date finale."

Joy swallowed, her fingers tightening around her coat sleeves.

"I wanted to visit my dad."

That stopped Serin cold. The humor drained from her face. Her eyes softened, almost guilty. "Is he…"

Joy nodded. "Yeah."

They stood in silence for a beat, just the soft hush of wind around them.

"Earlier," Joy continued, voice quieter now, "when you asked why I did all this… it was because of him."

"Oh," Serin said, blinking hard. "You want me to come with you?"

Joy offered a small nod, her voice fragile. "You don't have to say anything. Just… be there."

"…Okay."

Inside, the memorial hall was hushed, sacred. The kind of silence that made your own breathing feel too loud. Cold fluorescent lights hummed above rows of marble compartments, each holding the weight of a life.

Some had fresh flowers. Others, trinkets, letters, tiny folded cranes. Memories sealed behind glass.

Joy stopped in front of a modest plaque. A man smiled out from a framed photo — warm eyes, soft jaw, a kind face dressed in a modest suit. The resemblance was unmistakable.

She knelt, hands trembling as she lit a candle. The flame flickered, casting shadows across her face.

"Hi, Dad," she whispered, voice catching. "I'm here today. Like always."

She laughed softly, but it broke too early, turning brittle.

"I just turned eighteen. Or nineteen, I guess — since we're in Korea now. An adult, right?" Her voice cracked. "It's a little lonely without you. But I made it."

Serin remained standing just behind her, still and quiet, like a sentry.

"Mom couldn't come," Joy continued, staring at the plaque. "She's busy. As always. But she's doing well. You'd be proud — She is a CEO of Jinhwa now. Can you believe that? The same woman who worked part-time as a cashier now owns her own department store."

Her hands clenched the hem of her skirt.

"So don't worry. We're not struggling anymore. You don't have to work so hard now…"

Her words collapsed into sobs. The kind that steal your breath, that curl you in half.

"I miss you, Dad."

Before she could fall completely into the dark, arms wrapped around her. Firm. Gentle.

Serin knelt beside her, holding her tightly, like they'd known each other for years instead of a single, chaotic day.

They stayed like that for a while — grief and comfort tangled together.

When Joy finally straightened, wiping her face, her cheeks were blotchy and her nose red.

"That was… embarrassing," she mumbled. "I swear I'm not usually such a crybaby."

"You don't have to explain to me, Princess," Serin said softly.

Joy turned to her, half-laughing through tears. "Princess?"

"You're a third-generation chaebol, right? Makes you royalty in this world."

Joy rolled her eyes. "That's not my name."

"You haven't told me your real name. So I'll call you Princess."

Joy hesitated, then sighed. "My name is... just call me Joy."

"Mm. Alright, Princess Joy," Serin teased with a small smirk. "So, is this the end of our date? Or do you have any other plans for making me yours?"

Joy looked at her with a mock glare. "Do you feel better?"

Serin grew quiet. Her eyes softened.

"I don't know. Do you?"

"I do," Joy said honestly.

"Then I do too... Thank you. For today."

They stood together for a long moment. Not speaking. Not moving. Just existing. Sharing space. Breathing in the quiet.

Then Serin said, almost too softly, "I'm hungry again. Wanna split some tteokbokki on the way back?"

Joy let out a short breath — half laugh, half relief. "Only if we get banana milk too."

They stepped outside. The sky over Seoul had cleared, a pale wash of stars beginning to poke through the dusk.

But then Joy's phone buzzed. The screen lit up.

Mom.

She silenced it.

Then it buzzed again.

"Just answer it," Serin said gently, nudging her arm.

Joy sighed, reluctant, and picked up.

Her face twisted slightly as the voice on the other end filtered in. Polite. Cool. Clinical. Her mother wasn't calling to say happy birthday. She was calling to remind her of the "family dinner" tonight—a dinner meant to parade her before some son of a business partner.

An arranged fiancé.

Joy ended the call quietly.

"Let me guess," Serin said. "You have to leave."

Joy nodded. "Yeah. I don't want to, but… the driver's on the way. Still have a few minutes, though. Let me walk you home?"

"I'm just heading across that bridge," Serin said, pointing across the Han River.

Joy hesitated. Something about that direction made her chest tighten.

"Okay," she said, trying to ignore the unease. "Well, maybe I could—"

But Serin had already turned, walking ahead. Her hair catching the wind. Her steps quiet.

Joy called out, just above a whisper, "Goodbye."

Serin didn't turn.

Fifteen minutes later, a splash shattered the quiet.

A sickening, heavy sound from the river.

Joy froze.

No. No. That bridge… that was Mapo Bridge.

Her mind raced, heart in her throat as she broke into a sprint.

Cars honked. Pedestrians stared.

She reached the bridge, legs burning. Her eyes searched the river, frantic. Her chest tightened until—

There. A silhouette, just at the edge of the railing.

It was Serin.

Joy ran straight to her and wrapped her arms around her from behind.

"What are you doing?" she cried, voice cracking. "I thought we were past this!"

Serin didn't flinch. She turned her head slightly, her face calm. Almost serene.

"Don't worry," she said. "The scenario ended."

"What scenario?"

"I don't have to play with life anymore," Serin replied softly. "I found something worth staying for."

Joy froze. "You…"

Her phone buzzed again. The driver.

She looked down, then back at Serin. "Come with me. Let me take you home."

Serin smirked. "Afraid I'll jump the moment you turn your back?"

"Yes," Joy admitted, without hesitation. "I don't trust you yet."

"Fair enough." Serin's voice softened. "Somebody did jump," Serin said, glancing down at the river.

Joy followed her gaze — rescue lights in the distance. A small crowd gathering.

"I don't want you to be next," Joy whispered, her voice shaking.

Serin looked at her, quiet. Then nodded. "Okay, Princess. But are you sure your mom will approve of your little rebel project?"

"I don't care," Joy said firmly. "I just want to make sure you're safe."