Kristo didn’t look like anyone in Sunji. And neither did Amy. That was the first problem. Their skin was darker. Their hair refused to lie flat. And their round eyes marked them before they even spoke.

At school, Amy tried to press her curls into submission. At home, she ducked away from mirrors. “You’re not that different,” people would say, like that was supposed to help.

But she knew she was. And she knew everyone else saw it, too.

To make matters worse, she didn’t even look like her father. It had been obvious from a young age that she wasn’t his biological daughter.

But did that matter? No. Because she also knew—confidently—that she belonged to him in every way that counted.

And she weaponized the difference. She knew Kristo didn’t want her to feel out of place, and she used that.

What she didn’t realize was that streak of manipulation came from her real father—a man who had once tormented Kristo to no end.

But it didn’t matter. She didn’t need her biological father. She didn’t need anyone but Kristo.

Growing up, she relentlessly demanded daddy-daughter dates. And she knew he’d always say yes. Tea parties? Check. She’d even made him wear a fake crown and tutu. And now that she was a teenager, the crown stayed off, but the emotional blackmail had upgraded.

“Dad,” she said, pointing her fork at him. “You’re supposed to focus on me. Remember? Me… You’re distracted.”

They sat in a restaurant overlooking the sea, the steam from their food curling into the salty air. Kristo’s gaze snapped to her.

She tilted her head. From youth, she had been strangely attuned to other people's feelings. And right now, something was off. She studied him closely. Was that… fear?

“What’s up?” she asked, quieter now, her voice edged with worry.

Kristo smiled gently, reached out, and patted her head. “Nothing, but we have to go home.”

“Dad—”

But before they could leave the restaurant, a chill swept through the air. Amy felt it. Kristo did too. He swallowed. Then, without a word, he grabbed her arm, picked her up—and ran.

Her eyes widened as they almost flew. She gawked as he moved too fast for a human, jumping too far. His feet hit the stone with enough force to crack it. Forks clattered, mouths hung open as he jumped out the window!

“Dad!”

He didn’t stop until they reached their hut on the edge of town. He set her down fast, eyes scanning the horizon, then shouted for the rest of the family.

“Amy—go! Get them!” Panic laced his voice. Shooting him one last glance, she bolted inside, heart pounding.

“Mom!” she shouted. “Get out, now!”

No one understood. Her mother stepped forward slowly. Her brothers stared, confused.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know!” Amy spat, already dragging her younger brothers toward the door.

She didn’t know what it was, but Kristo was spooked — and she was too. There was no time to grab anything.

They were barely across the town marketplace when—Amy felt it again. The chill.

Kristo froze.

An impossibly beautiful woman stood at the center of the square, radiant and delighted.

“Samantha!” Despair laced his voice.

She twirled like a dancer. “Kristo!”

He paled. And Amy felt it—a deep thrum of recognition beneath them.

Then came the heat.

Red flickers, like embers, rose from his hand, trailing up his arm.

The woman’s arm glowed in turn. What was this? It almost looked like…magic?

She sang his name again, honey-sweet and poisonous. “Kristoooooo…”

Without warning, Kristo fired toward her. Flame erupted from his palm—

—but she twirled, graceful, and the attack fizzled into nothing!

“What was that?” she teased. “Are you really holding back? Afraid of damaging this little peasant town?”

She began to close the distance. Fast.

Kristo pushed his family behind him, one arm outstretched. When she neared, he shoved her hard. But she didn’t stumble, instead dancing backward, spinning with effortless grace, eyes scanning the faces behind him.

Then she saw Amy.

“Bingoooo!” she sang.

“Run,” Kristo muttered, voice low and hard.

His wife obeyed, grabbing the boys and sprinting toward the sea. But Amy froze. She couldn’t follow. Because her dad was in danger. I can’t leave. I won’t.

And then came the screams.

They both turned.

Men had grabbed her mother and brothers, blocking off their exit. Their hands crackled with fire, held dangerously close to their captives’ necks. Amy’s blood ran cold.

“Kristo,” the woman purred, stepping closer again. “Let’s make a trade.”

Amy stared. The men looked eerily familiar, like versions of her father. Of her.

“I only want the girl,” the woman said lightly. “The rest of your loser family? Not my concern.”

Kristo’s eyes burned as she came closer, her gaze hungry and nostalgic.

“It’s a shame,” she whispered, invading his space. “It could’ve been me.”

He didn’t answer. His jaw was tight. His magic trembled at his fingertips.

Amy’s chest clenched. There was only one ‘girl.’ And Samantha was looking right at her. She’s talking about me.

She looked at her mom and brothers crying from the pain of the heat and fear. Her father seemed locked in place, his hand clamped tight against her wrist, forcing her behind him. But why protect her when his wife and kids were screaming again?

Amy met the woman’s eyes.

“Let go, dad,” she said.

Her voice dropped into something deeper.

A command.

He flinched. Amy didn’t know she reminded him of her father. Her real one.

“Let. Go.”