Late morning sunlight pushed weakly through the dusty front windows of White Requiem.
The agency looked like a disaster zone.
The television in the corner was still playing some low-budget monster movie at a volume that made the air feel heavy.
Empty pizza boxes, scattered bullet casings, and a mountain of paperwork covered nearly every square inch of the furniture.
On the couch near the jukebox—
Diana was face-down, buried beneath her heavy white coat.
One arm hung off the edge, dangling toward the floor.
Her long black hair was a bird’s nest of knots.
The legendary devil huntress didn’t look like a feared killer of the underworld.
She looked like someone who had lost a violent, one-sided war against exhaustion.
DING DING DING.
The agency bell rang repeatedly downstairs.
BANG BANG BANG.
Someone was hammering on the front door like they were trying to break the wood.
Diana groaned, muffling her face into the couch cushion.
“…Go away.”
DING DING DING.
Another round.
Louder.
“…I swear to hell…”
A few moments later—
The front door creaked open.
Diana stood in the doorway, barefoot and half-conscious.
She was rubbing one eye, wearing an oversized black shirt that hung off her shoulder and a pair of shorts.
Her hair was a catastrophe.
Outside stood a young woman, maybe twenty.
She looked wrung out—eyes red, skin sallow from a long string of sleepless nights.
She saw Diana and let out a shuddering breath of relief.
“You must be Miss Diana?”
Diana blinked, once, twice.
Very slowly.
“…Depends who’s asking.”
“Please,” the woman begged, her voice tight with desperation.
“I need your help.”
A few minutes later.
The woman sat on the edge of her seat in front of the counter, nursing a steaming mug of coffee between shaking hands.
The low, warm hum of jazz from the jukebox filled the space.
Behind the counter, Diana leaned against the shelves, nursing her own coffee.
She was still messy, still half-asleep, but the way she held her cup—the way she watched the room—made the air feel heavy.
“So,” Diana said, voice raspy.
“Your younger brother disappeared.
Cops came up empty.”
The woman nodded.
“Yes.”
She reached into her bag, pulled out a photograph, and slid it over.
“He was normal.
Completely normal before this.”
Diana glanced at the image.
A kid, seventeen, maybe.
Average.
Totally ordinary.
The woman’s grip on the mug tightened until her knuckles went white.
“Suddenly, he started hearing voices.
I’d catch him sleepwalking.
Talking to things that weren’t there.
And his behavior…”
She stopped, looking down.
“…he got aggressive.
Every single day.”
Diana took a slow, measured sip.
“Natalya, right?”
Natalya nodded.
Diana set the cup down.
“Pardon me for saying this, but how can you be sure this is paranormal?”
Natalya looked startled.
“Your brother’s a teenager,” Diana said, her gaze sharpening.
“Kids get into things they shouldn’t.
Drugs.
Cults.
Nervous breakdowns.
Are you absolutely sure he was clean?
Sane?”
Natalya swallowed, looking shaken.
“I understand your point.”
She reached into her bag again, her movements frantic.
“But… there’s also this.”
She pushed another photo across the counter.
Diana’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes went still.
It was a bedroom wall, covered in black marker.
A symbol, repeated over and over.
The same symbol from the chapel.
The same one carved under the demon statue.
The sleepiness evaporated.
Silence stretched thin across the room.
Diana stared at the photo, then finally set it down with a heavy, deliberate motion.
“Alright, Natalya.”
Her tone was different now.
Cold.
Professional.
“I’ll take the case.”
Relief washed over Natalya, but Diana cut her off before she could speak.
“But you’re staying here until this is over.”
Natalya blinked.
“…Why?”
“I can help you investigate his room,” Natalya insisted, already standing up.
“I know where he kept his things.”
Diana shook her head.
“This isn’t a police investigation.”
The jukebox hummed.
Diana stood her ground.
“This is the safest place you can be.
If this situation actually requires a devil hunter…”
Her eyes dropped back to that symbol.
“…especially me… then you can’t risk your safety anymore.”
Later that afternoon—
Diana unlocked the apartment door.
Click.
It was a standard, miserable apartment.
Living room, a shitty TV, laundry basket overflowing on the couch, and the smell of days-old instant noodles.
She stepped inside, pulling the door shut.
“Let’s see what kind of mess you got yourself into, kid.”
She went straight for the bedroom.
She opened the door—
“…Wow.”
It was exactly what you’d expect from a teenage boy.
Clothes everywhere, game cases scattered like landmines, snack wrappers turning into a local ecosystem.
Diana stood in the doorway, crossing her arms.
“Glad I’m not the only one with this problem.”
But under the junk?
It felt wrong.
She scanned the room.
The walls were covered in the same demonic symbols.
Some looked carved with a frantic intensity, others looked… practiced.
Almost worshiped.
Diana’s playful mask slipped.
She walked to the window, pulled the curtain, and checked the alleyway below.
Nothing.
Just city noise.
“…Hm.”
She turned back to the room.
Her eyes landed on a stack of magazines shoved under the bed.
She walked over and pulled one out.
Adult magazines.
“Yep.
Definitely a teenager.”
She started flipping through them, looking for anything hidden.
Something slipped out.
A photo.
She picked it up.
A young woman.
Pale, dark-haired, with eyes that looked like they belonged on a painting, not a human.
The smile was wrong.
It was the kind of smile that made your skin crawl.
Diana tucked the photo into her coat pocket.
“…That explains a few things.”
Back at White Requiem.
Natalya sat at the counter, watching as Diana laid the photo out.
“I don’t know who she is,” Natalya said, frowning.
“You’ve never seen her?”
“Never.”
Diana leaned against the shelves, thoughtful.
“Expected.”
She picked the photo up again.
“I’m pretty certain about one thing now.”
Natalya leaned in, anxious.
“Your brother wasn’t possessed.”
The agency felt smaller, the silence heavier.
“He left willingly,” Diana said, looking at the girl’s face.
“For her.
Or maybe with her.”
Natalya looked horrified.
“Why would he do that?”
“Who knows,” Diana shrugged.
“Love.
Lust.
Power.
Teenagers are unpredictable.
Some are even willing to dance with a demon.”
“How can you be so sure she’s a demon?”
Diana didn’t answer.
She reached into a bottom compartment behind the counter.
She pulled out a small black bottle filled with a thick, iridescent liquid.
She set it on the counter.
“Drop a little on the photo.”
Natalya hesitated.
“What is it?”
“Holy oil mixture.
Think of it as demon allergy medicine.”
Natalya uncapped it and let a single drop hit the glossy paper.
FWOOOSH.
The photo turned into a ball of violent, crimson flame.
Natalya jumped back, screaming.
“What the hell?!”
The photo blackened into ash in seconds.
Diana didn’t even blink.
“You understand now?”
She tapped the counter.
“Your brother carried a piece of her existence into your home through that photo.
The more he looked at her… the deeper she crawled into his thoughts.”
Natalya looked like she was going to faint.
“She manipulated him?”
“Probably.
Dreams.
Obsession.
Emotional dependency.” Diana pushed off the counter.
“Demons like her rarely force people immediately.
They seduce their way inside first.”
Natalya’s hands were shaking.
“What happens now?”
Diana looked at the clock on the wall.
TICK.
TICK.
TICK.
She offered a faint, jagged smile.
“Now?
We wait until midnight.”