“The argument greatly affected your father.” Seokga picks a stray lint off his black turtleneck. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re sitting smug on the throne right now.”

On the other end of the line, Hwanung pauses. “What do you mean?” he asks carefully.

“He cries rather a lot,” the trickster muses, “and naps constantly. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

A longer silence this time. Seokga licks his lips, cocks his head, and goes in for the kill.

“You could say that he’s unrecognizable. What did you do to him?”

“It’s what he deserves,” Hwanung finally replies in a voice cold enough to freeze ice. The little shit. Seokga hopes he’s truly involved in this, if only to finally give the insufferable asshole the punch in the face he dearly needs.

“And what is it that you think you deserve?” Seokga’s reply is quick, viper-like in its speed—but still casual, with a hidden layer of sharpness. It’s easy enough to guess what their altercation was over. “A new godly affinity? Still hung up on ‘sex, drugs, and rock and roll’? Or are you desiring something a little…different? Something bigger?”

“Well,” snaps Hwanung, “I’m sitting on the throne, right now—and he’s not. I have something different, and I like it. Maybe”—and here, his tone becomes white-hot with resentment—“I don’t plan to give it up anytime soon. Enjoy your cruise. Goodbye, Uncle.”

The younger god hangs up.

The audacity of youth these days.

Seokga stares down at his phone in offended disbelief as Kisa joins his side, Hwanin in her arms. When he glances at her, he’s surprised to see that her light blue scrubs are splattered with soapy water and that Hwanin (scowling) looks freshly cleaned.

“So?” she asks, seemingly ignoring how the baby glowers up at her like he wants to throw her to the wolves.

“Hwanung is involved,” Seokga mutters. Kisa peers up at him, brows pulling together.

“You’re certain? Did you record the call like I showed you? With the app?”

“Probably,” says Seokga (who honestly isn’t sure—how in the hells the app works is lost on him), and grudgingly takes Hwanin so Kisa can poke around on the infernal device. A moment later, the conversation plays from the phone, and she listens intently before playing it one more time and grabbing her notebook from her pocket and scrawling down a half-page of notes. When she finally comes up for air, she looks troubled.

“It certainly doesn’t sound good,” she admits, and he sees that she’s transcribed the entire conversation onto the page.

“I’ll text Yeomra,” says Seokga, eager to rid himself of his drooling brother. He attempts to trade baby for phone, but Kisa shakes her head, stopping him.

“Wait,” she says. “I want to listen one more time.”