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Celine had been feeling the Honmoon’s flutters for days now.
Not the steady energy of souls interwoven or the hum of background emotion she was accustomed to.
Not the sharp, warning pulses she’d learned to recognize as a call to battle.
These were…different. Warm. Rhythmic.
Sometimes strong enough to make her breath catch in her chest. Sometimes so light she wondered if she imagined them.
But they always, always, felt like Rumi.
And that was what made her uneasy.
She and Rumi were in a…delicate place. Not estranged, but not exactly steady either. There were things between them that hadn’t been said enough. Things that had been said too sharply. So Celine didn’t feel like she could simply walk up to her almost-daughter and ask, “Are you okay? Why is the Honmoon doing…whatever this is?”
So instead, she went to the only other people who might know.
Mira and Zoey.
She picked a day she knew Rumi would be out—a schedule packed tight with meetings, rehearsals, and more ensuring that she wouldn’t be home for a long while.
Celine arrived at the penthouse early in the afternoon. It was a simple enough matter to use her security code to unlock the elevator to the penthouse, but when she reached the keypad just outside the door, she hesitated for reasons she couldn’t quite articulate.
A moment of deliberation, and she rang the bell instead.
Zoey answered, blinking like she’d just been caught doing something illegal, ears pinking to their tips. Mira appeared behind her, posture straightening the moment she saw who it was.
And Mira’s sharp features hardened. “Celine,” she greeted, polite but tense. “We weren’t expecting you.”
“I know,” Celine replied, forgoing an apology. “May I come in?”
Zoey stepped aside so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. It was clear she was nervous. “Yes! Of course! Come in!” She motioned for Celine to follow her into the penthouse. “Please, don’t stand in the hallways like a…like a…person…who shouldn’t be in the hallway.” She visibly cringed at her own words, Mira scrubbing her face in something like exasperation.
Celine pretended not to notice.
They ushered her into the living room, the awkwardness thick enough to chew.
How much did they know about what happened between her and Rumi that night, Celine wondered as she sat on the edge of the couch. The tension spoke for itself, and Celine allowed herself a moment of shame.
Rumi thought she didn’t love her. Rumi had asked her to kill her.
She must have been truly terrible over the years for Rumi to even think she might go through with something like that.
And the girls must know all about it, she realized as Mira perched on a chair and Zoey settled herself on the couch.
But Celine was a professional—skilled at hiding herself away, just as she’d taught Rumi to do—and so she cleared her throat and made small talk.
She hated that she made small talk, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
“How are rehearsals?” she asked.
“Good,” Mira answered—echoed by Zoey—a little too quickly. A little too sharply. She clearly wasn’t buying into any of Celine’s delays.
So, Celine folded her hands, took a breath, and decided to rip off the band-aid.
“I’m worried about Rumi.”
Both girls froze, still as statues.
“The pulses in the Honmoon… They feel like her, but something seems…off. Different. I’ve never felt anything like this before.”
Mira immediately looked at the ceiling, the floor, the wall—anywhere but at Celine.
Zoey, for her part, made a noise like a squeaky toy being stepped on. When Mira shot a glare her way, the youngest immediately clamped her mouth shut so hard her teeth clicked.
Celine frowned, her stare zeroing in on Zoey. Her weak link. “Girls,” she said, watching as Zoey raised her hands to her mouth.
Mira tried to dodge for the both of them. “Rumi is fine. She’s just busy. Tired. You know how she gets.”
Celine’s eyes narrowed on Mira, and she returned that steely gaze to Zoey. “Zoey,” she prompted simply.
Zoey’s eyes went huge and she squeaked again. “I…”
Mira hissed, “Don’t!”
Celine leaned forward, gentle but firm. “I need to know if she’s all right.” It was a simple plea, and Celine had to fight off the satisfaction when Zoey finally cracked.
And, oh, she cracked spectacularly.
“I DIDN’T THINK YOU COULD FEEL IT FROM THAT FAR AWAY!” she wailed, covering her face.
Mira pounced on her, trying to cover her mouth. “Zoey!”
But Zoey was already gone—spiraling—words tumbling out like someone had broken the dam. “It’s not danger pulses!” she assured Celine, face burning. “It’s not bad! It’s us!” She fought against where Mira pinned her down. She’d clearly been dying to get this off her chest. “The flutters happen when we’re—when the three of us are close! Like, really close! Emotionally!”
Mira growled at her to stop talking. To please just stop talking!
“And other ways!” Zoey clarified, steamrolling past Mira’s protests. “You know—adult ways. Consensual adult ways! Oh my God, Mira, stop!”
Mira made a strangled noise as Zoey outed them to their mentor.
“They’re good pulses!” Zoey promised. “Really good pulses! And I honestly didn’t think you could feel them that far away!”
Celine stared at them as they wrestled on the couch.
Then she stared at the wall.
Then back at them.
Quietly, her brain blue-screened—like a flatline of thought.
“The Honmoon tattled on us,” Zoey whimpered.
“You tattled on us,” Mira told her, face burning as she buried it in her hands. “I’m so sorry.”
Celine blinked once at the apology.
Twice.
A third time.
“Oh,” she said faintly.
Zoey nodded miserably. “Yeah.”
“Oh…” Celine repeated, feeling slightly like her soul was leaving her body.
“We were going to tell you,” Mira promised. “Eventually.”
“We didn’t realize Rumi had a broadcast radius!” was Zoey’s only defense.
Celine pressed a hand to her forehead. “I need to sit down,” she said weakly.
“You are sitting,” Mira told her gently.
“Then I need to sit down harder,” she asserted as Zoey tittered nervously from her place on the couch. A tremble in her hands and her mind floating somewhere outside her head had Celine staring at the ceiling. “I need tea…”
-
The elevator chimed softly as it reached the penthouse floor. Rumi stepped out, laden with bags of takeout, shoulders finally relaxing after a long day of meetings and more.
She eagerly keyed in her entry code, ready to be done with the day and spend the evening with her girls. The nervous flutter in her chest when they looked at her was still new, but she didn’t really mind it.
“I’m back!” she called as she shouldered through the door with the takeout.
No answer. She frowned.
Then, as she glanced to the living room on her way to the kitchen, she froze.
Celine sat in the armchair, spine straight, eyes unfocuses, looking like she had astral-projected out of her own body.
Zoey was sitting on the couch, knees to her chest, staring at the wall like it had personally betrayed her.
Mira was perched beside her, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white, her face the color of a tomato.
Rumi blinked.
And blinked again.
“…Celine?”
Celine did not respond immediately. She blinked very slowly, like a computer lagging between windows.
Zoey made a noise that could only be described as pure, existential dread.
Mira could only whisper something under her breath.
Rumi took a cautious step forward. “Is…everything all right?”
Zoey immediately shook her head, pouting. “No! The Honmoon is a snitch!”
“Zoey,” Mira moaned tiredly.
Celine finally turned her head toward Rumi—stiff, mechanical, like she was afraid her neck might snap if she moved too fast. Then, without warning, she stood.
Rumi froze.
Celine crossed the room in three slow, deliberate steps. She didn’t speak. She didn’t blink. She simply looked at Rumi—really looked—as though searching her face for answers.
Rumi didn’t know what to make of it, but it was a very long moment.
It was a heavy moment.
A moment where Zoey could barely be heard breathing, “Oh no no no no no!” and Mira looked like she was ready to flee the country.
And then Celine folded Rumi into the warmest hug they’d shared since Rumi was small enough to fit under her chin.
Rumi stiffened just a little, surprised, and then melted into the familiar safety of it.
Celine held her like someone who had been terrified. Like someone who had braced for the worst and found something else entirely. Her arms were firm, protective, and trembling just slightly.
Rumi swallowed. “Celine?”
Celine didn’t let go. Her voice was soft, a bit shaken, and unbearably gentle. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
Rumi blinked in confusion even as she heard Zoey squeak somewhere behind her. “I… Yes? I’m safe,” she agreed.
Celine finally pulled back enough to cup Rumi’s face in both hands. She studied her with a depth that made Rumi’s breath hitch with emotion she’d tried to bury these past months. Then, “I felt the pulses,” Celine whispered. And Rumi’s stomach dropped.
“I didn’t understand them,” Celine told her. “I thought—” She shook her head, unable to finish.
Rumi’s heart twisted. “Oh…”
Behind them, Zoey whispered loudly, “She thought you were dying,” and Mira elbowed her so hard she nearly fell off the couch.
Celine exhaled shakily, moving her hands to rest on Rumi’s shoulders. “I didn’t know what they meant. I didn’t know if you were hurt, or frightened, or—" She hesitated, cheeks warming. “—or something else.”
Rumi’s face went crimson. Behind her, Mira and Zoey looked ready for the Earth to open up and swallow them whole.
Finally, Celine stepped back, smoothing a hand down Rumi’s arms before offering an awkwardly affectionate pat to her cheek. “I’m not upset,” she promised softly. “Just startled. This was so far away from anything I expected.”
Rumi nodded slowly, still processing. “I didn’t think it would reach you.”
Zoey threw her hands up and crowed, “THANK YOU! That’s what I said!”
Mira groaned, “Zoey, please…”
It was enough to pull a smile from Rumi and—consequently—Celine.
Then, with a steadying breath, Celine said, “We will talk. Later.” And her tone brooked no argument. “After I’ve had tea. And possibly a lie down…”
Rumi’s tiny smile turned apologetic. “Okay.”