Scythe and Song

Chapter 15: Threads that Bind

The wind had quieted after midnight. The world below the fortress slept beneath twin moons, wrapped in a silver haze. From above, the city looked still — the smoke had settled, the whispers gone — but the shadows moved where no light could reach.

Something was awake.

It drifted along the rooftops like smoke with intent, silent and thin, leaving frost in its wake. The demon spy was not made of flesh so much as memory — a wraith bound by Gwi-ma's command, unseen, unbreathing, and loyal only to fear. Its form shifted as it moved, phasing through walls, through the breath of night itself, until it reached the house that pulsed faintly with warmth.

It slowed.

There — the balcony.

Two figures sat beneath the moonlight, the glow painting them in silver and soft shadow. Soomin leaned against the railing, wrapped in a loose white nightgown that caught every passing breeze. Jinu stood beside her, his jacket now draped over her shoulders, the sleeves hanging too long on her arms. They spoke quietly, voices low enough that the spy had to slither closer, its form pressing into the stone like a stain.

"...You're a fool," Soomin murmured, and though her tone tried for sharpness, her voice trembled.

Jinu only smiled, faint but real, the kind that softened the sharp edges of his face. He said something under his breath — a quiet reassurance — and the spy tilted its head, though it couldn't understand the words.

The air shifted around them. The faint warmth of their breath, the human sound of laughter in a place meant for silence — it irritated the creature. Demons did not laugh like that. They didn't look at one another the way these two did now — like they were something more than blood and bone and command.

The wind brushed past Soomin's hair, carrying the scent of tea and ash. She pulled the jacket tighter around herself, eyes glassy but calm, her tears drying against her skin. Jinu stood close, just close enough that their hands brushed against the railing. His pinky grazed hers, not by accident.

The spy's eyes narrowed.

The Reaper heir — laughing. Soft. Unarmed. The demon lingered on her face, the faint shimmer of old scars against her collarbone, the way her features relaxed in his presence. The sight stirred something ancient inside its hollow chest — not emotion, not envy — just awareness. Something dangerous was forming here, something that didn't belong to the world Gwi-ma ruled.

Soomin said something else then, quieter still. Her lips moved, and her voice carried like a sigh.

"...I never meant it," she whispered. "Any of it."

Her gaze fell toward the city, toward the flickering lights below. "When I said I loathed you... when I told you to stay away — it wasn't because I wanted to. I just..." She shook her head, a half-laugh half-sob escaping. "I thought if I could make you hate me, it would be easier. For both of us."

Jinu didn't respond right away. The spy could see him fighting the urge to reach for her — his hands flexed at his sides, restrained. When he did speak, his tone was low, unsteady.

"You failed."

Her head snapped toward him, startled, confused.

He met her eyes. "You didn't push me away. You couldn't. And you don't have to anymore."

Her breath caught. She didn't answer — couldn't — but her body relaxed just enough that the tension in her shoulders eased.

That was when Susie fluttered in, landing on the railing between them. She gave her familiar, disapproving chirp, shaking her feathers out with authority. The little magpie puffed up like a queen, blinking her three mismatched eyes as if to say, finally.