He’s choosing to ignore the question of the thread’s sentience in favor of a more pressing issue. “Actually,” Seokga says, shaking his head in a poor attempt to clear it, “you might be intrigued to know—scientifically, of course—that the thread can’t make you feel anything.” Even on his own face, his smile feels smug. More of a sharp, satisfied smirk than anything. “To my knowledge, the sharing of thoughts, of emotions…None of that manipulates your own thoughts and emotions. You can write that down in your notebook,” he adds graciously, waving an indulgent hand.

—could it—be—true—not—the—thread?—

Kisa narrows her eyes at him, but a moment later, furiously scribbles something down.

—what—could—that—mean?—

A few minutes later, Seokga arches a brow. “You never finished your sentence.”

“What sentence?” The way the words are forced out from in between her teeth tells Seokga that she knows precisely what sentence he’s referring to. Still, he humors her.

“What did you feel?” he asks, internally delighted.

Kisa glares at him. “A nice, platonic friendship.”

“I’m curious,” replies Seokga with a hope unlike any he’s ever felt before, “does a platonic friend admire their friend’s ‘arse’?”

She scowls, but Seokga can tell that underneath, she’s trying not to smile. “I’m going to bed,” she snaps.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Seokga calls, arching a brow. “If the murderer comes tonight, the first place they’ll check is Hwanin’s room…”

Kisa hesitates.

“Unless you’d like to take your chances, you’re better off staying in here.” Seokga does his best to look extremely pleasant and gestures to his bed, where Hwanin dozes. He’s not afraid to admit that he very much would like Kisa to stay with him tonight.

Unfortunately, it appears that she’s fully aware of his ploy. “There’s a settee in the connecting sitting room,” Kisa informs him, lips twitching. “Good night, Seokga.”

He makes a disappointed sort of grunt in response, earning a laugh.

Unable to sleep for the next few hours, certain the murderer will return, Seokga gets up to stretch his legs and grabs a spare blanket from the foot of his bed. In the sitting room, Kisa is curled up on the settee, a tattered book held close to her chest.

Curious, Seokga eyes the cover. His breath hitches in his throat at the sight of the Highlander pirate and his swooning woman. That book looks familiar. For the second time that day, his mind drifts back to that bookshelf in Hani’s tiny apartment, how she hoarded romance books like a squirrel hoards nuts. Ah, yes, this is it—the book about the Scotsman who is also a pirate who is also a time-traveler. Bewildering.