“Right here.” The red thread gives a little tug around her finger, and Kisa looks up to see Seokga stalking through the doorway, Hwanin on his hip. To her surprise, the child is wearing the bonnet that she loved and Seokga so vehemently hated—along with a tiny pair of sunglasses. Seokga looks frazzled, and Hwanin looks suspiciously smug. Seokga’s verdant gaze snaps to hers and softens. “Kisa,” the trickster says, “is it normal for babies to float ten feet up into the air?”

As if to demonstrate, Hwanin grins and begins to rise out of his brother’s arm. Seokga snatches him back down by his chubby foot, looking extremely panicked.

“He’s flying already?” she asks, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s—that’s incredible!”

The trickster looks extraordinarily unhappy.

“Books on infant gods are so scarce, with such limited information, even for Samsin Halmoni’s shamans,” she explains, attempting not to gush, but failing spectacularly. She’s practically quivering with excitement. “It’s possible that Okhwang’s Heavenly Library has numerous volumes, but, well, nobody but the pantheon is permitted clearance. So it’s been widely assumed that powers don’t emerge until early childhood, perhaps three or four, but Hwanin doesn’t seem—by my estimations, of course—more than a year old at the very most. With demigods, powers don’t appear until six or seven, and I’ve never seen a child this young flying…I wonder if it’s altered his density, at all, or his gravitational center—” She cuts off abruptly as a flash of intense violet, much more vibrant than the deep, royal shade of embarrassment from earlier, shoots down the thread. It’s hot and sharp, as if hundreds of little needles are prickling at her skin. Panic—Seokga’s panic and worry. His face is so…pale.

“Kisa,” he says in a voice that she suspects is barely controlled, “that’s all very fascinating. But is it normal? Or is there something wrong with him?” Again, that panic.

Right. Kisa presses her lips together. She’s gotten carried away again. “Infant gods do have their powers, just not the same control over them as their adult selves. He’ll be all right, Seokga.” She wonders why the god seems to know less about infant deities than she does, but it’s apparent that Seokga doesn’t like children very much. She wouldn’t be surprised if he actively avoids them at all costs.

Relief smooths out his face, followed by an expression of supreme annoyance as Hwanin’s tiny hand smacks his mouth. Kisa watches in amusement as Seokga’s eyes meet hers, silently begging for help.

You’re on your own, she thinks, hoping the thread carries her thoughts to him.

By the way his green eyes narrow to slits, she knows it has.

—Kisa—please—he is—insufferable—