Somi looks affronted.

“Um, not you, though,” he adds quickly.

Her smile is bright and sharp, her little fangs piercing her lips. “Good,” she purrs.

Glancing between them—the blush on Hajun’s cheeks, the twinkle in Somi’s eyes—Kisa feels a strange twist of jealousy. Whatever the two of them have, it’s completely…new. No expectations from a past life hanging over their heads, no muddled history stemming back to the Dark Days. Blinking rapidly, she takes a deep breath—but the thread has already carried her green envy down its length toward the trickster god.

—why—jealous?—might—understand—

Kisa clears her throat, avoiding Seokga’s eye. “Here’s what I think we should do,” she says, clutching her coffee close to her chest and savoring its warmth. “When we get the chance, we obviously need to access the security room again. Now that we know we’re looking for a woman, we can concentrate on locating one heading to the I-95 both last night and the night of the murder. We should update Yeomra as well, tell him we’re close.” She hesitates, nibbling on her bottom lip. Dr. Jang’s voice isn’t precisely high and snooty, but her inexplicable hunch still remains. At some point today, she’ll slip off for a quick investigation—just to ensure it’s not her—and return. There can’t be any harm in that.

“It’s a plan,” says Hajun, and he sounds excited. “We’re almost there. I can feel it.”

Something begins to wither in her chest at the words, and Kisa mentally curses herself. What is wrong with her? Reincarnation is just within reach. So why does she find herself staring at the red thread, feeling as if she’s about to suffer some great loss? A moment ago, her heart was falling at the lack of solid evidence from Somi. Now, it’s breaking at the knowledge that the mystery is almost over.

Her blue sadness crests down the string, and she jerks away her gaze before Seokga’s eyes meet hers.

—she’ll—leave—wants to—why is she—sad?—is—there hope—

“We are,” Kisa agrees quietly, and the words taste like ash on her tongue. She fights the urge to gag on them, and as Seokga moves closer to her in concern, Kisa acts on a base instinct—some primal remnant of fight or flight—and flees the sick bay.

Like a panicked animal, she shoves through the swinging doors, breaths coming in shallow bursts. Dimly, she hears Seokga shout her name in clear worry, but she’s already running. As her feet pound on the corridor’s hard floor, her eyes blur with hot tears.