A bank of storm clouds crept across the evening sky as the unicorns were carefully urged through a massive portal to their usual habitat of deciduous forest and wildflower meadows. Hanji had flown through first to do his witchy perimeter, then zoomed out to signal the start of the mini migration.

There had been no sign of Mihn the whole day.

Once the last ivory hoof passed through, Briggs leaned over, waving up (or down, from his perspective) at Chan and Injae with Hwa in his ferret form once again wrapped around his horns. Hanji flew in the upside-down sky below (above?) them. Chan and Injae waved back, and then the portal flared black and disappeared. 

The summer air was absolutely still. Surrounding Chan was nothing but the aftermath of pain–trampled grasses, blood spatters, gouged earth. No birds chirped. No insects buzzed. Only a single gumiho side-eyed him warily.

Chan ached inside and out. His back, neck, and thighs were sore from a full day of work on a few hours of sleep. Mihn’s absence was just as much a handicap as if he’d had a literal gaping hole in his body. He felt hollow.

“Good work, Chan-ah,” said Injae briskly, dusting off her hands. The Director’s face was streaked with dirt and blood, thicker where it had congealed in her sweat. The dying sun painted her red. “You should go back home now. And I don’t mean the cabin.”

Home. Injae wanted him to go to his tiny apartment on the edge of the city. Chan blinked and shook his head, a stubborn set to his jaw. “What about Mihn?”

Injae flicked her gaze up, and Chan did too. He saw nothing but gray clouds in the distance and the first few stars settling in the indigo sky. “Mihn needs some time. Let’s leave her be for now.”

Chan grit his teeth, eyes flashing. Fire licked the gaping hole in his chest. “She’s already been alone for the whole day! Do you know how dangerous that is? She could be injured, and we’d have no idea!”

“She may have gone home, too. There’s–”

“She hasn’t,” Chan all but shouted. He raised his fist, shook it in Injae’s face. The pink border crystal bracelet trembled on his wrist. “There’s been a grand total of zero triggers on the boundary today. Mihn is still in Anjeon. I should go find her.” Chan scrubbed his face roughly. “Gods, I shouldn’t have left her alone all day. She could–”

“Mihn can take care of herself,” Injae said firmly.

The words clung to the folds of Chan’s brain like sticky acid. He tipped wide, wet eyes toward Injae and blurted, “But she shouldn’t have to!”

Injae inhaled sharply, her own timeless face full of pity. “Channie…”

“She shouldn’t have to! You say she needs space, but what if she doesn’t? What if she actually needs someone to be there for her?” Chan’s throat felt thick, and his nose prickled. Mihn needed something. And it was killing him that he couldn’t give it to her.

“She has a burden she’s carried all alone for who knows how long. I don’t have to know what it is to know that it hurts her. Let me help her. Let me go find her. Please, Injae.”

Chan’s voice cracked on his plea, and suddenly he was sobbing. Weeping with fat tears and shuddering breaths. Mihn was gone and he’d stupidly settled for staying on this trampled savanna instead of chasing her. His shoulders shook painfully and he curled in on himself, unable to lift his head to see Injae’s reaction.

A long-fingered hand rubbed soothing circles on his back. “Channie,” Injae said in a strange tone, “You’re exhausted. Before you can help Mihn, you have to help yourself. So how about you go home, get a good night’s sleep, and come back here tomorrow morning. I’ll let you know if she returns to Headquarters between now and then.”

It hurt. Chan’s heart hurt as if he’d been stabbed. And wherever Mihn was, she was surely hurting, too. Why couldn’t Injae understand that? Why couldn’t she–

In a sodden flash, Chan realized his boss would never permit him to chase after Mihn. She cared too much about both her Rangers, and she was certain that the best thing for both of them was to take some time apart.

She was completely and utterly wrong. Injae hadn’t heard Mihn’s anguish, hadn’t noticed how Mihn pushed people away when all she really needed was to be pulled close. 

If Chan outright defied the Director, she could easily restrain him. Gumiho magic was nasty like that. But there was no way in hell Chan was going to leave Anjeon without knowing Mihn was safe.

Which meant Chan would have to be sneaky. 

So he nodded. He stopped crying with remarkable ease once he had a plan in place. “Okay, boss. I guess you’re right. I’ll go home.”

The hand on his back patted him twice before slipping off. “Good. It’ll help you. And don’t worry about Mihn. I’m really sure she’s fine.”

Chan sucked some snot back into his nose with a mighty sniff, dried his eyes on the bottom of his shirt, and shot Injae a watery smile. “OK. I’ll be back tomorrow, though.” 

He took off the bracelet and handed it to her. Someone inside of Anjeon needed to have it at all times.

“Wouldn’t expect anything else.” Injae pocketed the pink crystals with a firm nod. "I'm sure Briggs could portal you home. I'll fly to the forest with–ah, no."  She shook her head. "The perimeter. Our carpets would drop like stones."

Chan carefully kept the relief from his face. This was the perfect excuse. "It's fine. I can fly home. I mean, this carpet is technically Anjeon's property, but–"

"Of course you can fly it home. I'm not gonna make you fly to headquarters to drop it off and drive your car to your house. That's way too inefficient."

"Thanks, boss."

Night had thoroughly fallen while Chan had cried. There was no moon in the sky. Only starlight witnessed Chan climb onto his carpet, and Injae step gracefully onto hers. They zoomed off in perpendicular directions: Injae toward headquarters, and Chan toward his home. If he kept on this path, he’d arrive in two hours.

He didn’t keep on the path. Chan waited a full twenty minutes after he lost sight of Injae before making his move, knowing the gumiho’s eyesight was superior to his own. But after those minutes were up, he wrenched the carpet towards the west. That’s where the griffins had flown, Mihn with them.

What had she been doing all day? Had she thought about Chan at all? Did her heart hurt as much as his did? Did she feel their separation as keenly as Chan did?

Did she regret running away?

Chan’s lips flattened into a grim line. Clearly not, else she would have returned by now.

Lightning flashed in the storm clouds that now hovered directly overhead. Dry winds whipped up dust and dry leaves, making Chan squint as he dipped his carpet low to the ground. He needed to fly below the tops of the occasional acacia tree. Getting struck by lighting would certainly fry his plan to find Mihn.

And he would find her. He would find her and make sure she was safe. If she’d calmed down and was willing to talk, he’d listen. And if she pulled the same aggressive avoidance tactic like she had outside Hanji’s shop, he’d pretend nothing had happened.

If she hated him? If he’d pushed her too hard and she wanted nothing to do with him? Then he’d quietly follow her as she flew on a griffin, just to make sure she got safely to her destination. Then he’d hand in his resignation so Mihn could continue working with her beloved animals without him.

He’d do anything Mihn wanted him to, if it meant she was safe and happy. But, Gods, if she wanted him gone, the rest of his life would be a shadowed, pale imitation of living.

Chan was jerked out of his thoughts as he was jerked off his carpet.

“Ah!” he yelped, as something thin cinched tightly around his ankle. His carpet shot out from under him as he was jerked to a stop so violently he felt his leg nearly come out of his hip socket. It was so fast and sudden, he didn’t even have time to grip the edge of the carpet. 

His yelp was cut short as the hard ground knocked the wind from his lungs. Pain bloomed behind his sternum and fire raked over his elbows and forearms as tiny rocks, sharp grass and bushes scraped him raw. He'd just managed to cover his face before skidding to a stop along the ground belly-down.

Stiffly, he rolled onto his back, fighting the panic clawing at his windpipe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. Everything was hot wind and gritty dust and darkness and stinging flesh.

Everything except his foot. That was…nothing.

That fueled his panic even more, and he looked down frantically. A shimmering blue rope wrapped around his ankle. That ankle, foot, and calf were numb.

The last time he’d seen a rope like this had been a year ago, wrapped around a dragon fledgling that had keened in terror. A trio of poachers surrounded it. He and Mihn had fought them off just in time to save the poor creature.

And now, a poacher’s tool had ripped him from his flying carpet.