—shouldn’t have—compared—Hani—Kisa—she—looks so—upset—fuck—Jang said—theory—

“It’s all right,” Kisa manages to say, staring down at the salt floor. “To be expected, really.” She hates this feeling of envy and wishes it could feel as ridiculous as it sounds—jealous of herself in a past life. But Kisa knows what conclusion she draws from the Ship of Theseus question. And despite this new feeling of friendly familiarity around Seokga, she’s not Hani, not a mass-murdering gumiho that steals from ATMs. If Seokga fell in love with someone like that, what must he think of her now? In nature versus nurture, nurture has won. She knows he must be disappointed.

It shouldn’t even matter. It doesn’t.

“Kisa,” Seokga says—awkwardly. The godly prince is awkward before her. It warms something in her to see him fumble for words that come so coldly and quickly when he speaks to others. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine,” she replies quickly, too quickly. Seokga’s expression becomes almost wretched before it quickly smooths out. “Really. I understand. I’m not her. You looked for her for so long, and I’m not…her.” With slightly trembling fingers, she scrapes back a loose strand of hair. “I suppose I’m sorry for that, too.”

She hadn’t meant to say it, and she almost wishes she hadn’t.

His eyes flare in alarm. “Don’t apologize—”

She hates this conversation. Despises it. Despises herself for her envy, for having been watching his neck, having been thinking about his bum earlier. Time to move on—and quickly. “We should strategize,” she cuts in. “Now that we know Korain and Chaeyeon are, well, not innocent exactly—but not guilty of the murder, either…There’s so much to do.”

Seokga’s jaw twitches in a way that tells her he’s not done with the previous conversation, but runs a hand down his face. “Fuck,” the god mutters.

“The cameras didn’t pick up any witnesses on the I-95, or near the stairwell, but perhaps someone heard something. If there’s a way that we can subtly poke around…Seokga?” The god is slumped against the wall, and for the first time, Kisa notices the dark circles under his eyes. “Are you…”

“I’m exhausted,” he rasps. “Hwanin kept me up all night with his crying. I had no idea how to make it stop. I kept thinking the murderer had snuck in. I’ve barely slept. I don’t know how I’ll survive tonight, much less five more days of this.” She watches in growing concern as he thumps his head softly against the wall. “I’m tired, Kisa,” he says. “I’m so tired.”