He wants to be a father. It’s everything Seokga’s ever wanted to hear. He groans, squeezing his eyes shut. Such pretty promises, wrapped up neatly in a bow. The temptation is a squirming, wriggling thing inside of him. To be the worthy son this time. It all fits so neatly into his fantasies, his dashing rescue and the gratitude—the love—he might receive in return. Slowly, Seokga passes Hwanin to Kisa, who takes the child with an alarmed expression.

“Seokga…”

When she leaves him, he’ll be utterly alone. As it was before, so it will be after.

Unless.

Unless, unless, unless.

His eyes fly open.

If there is one thing that Seokga has learned from his years of trickery, it is that there is always an unless. Perhaps even multiple. Another offer to make, another path to take. So he steps forward as the ship pitches once more, thunder roaring overhead as demons swoop through brilliant strokes of lightning—and takes Jang Heejin’s hand.

It’s warm and slightly calloused, wrinkled with age yet still somehow smooth, as if subjected to copious amounts of creams and powder. Seokga squeezes it gently, staring into Jang’s crow’s-feet-lined eyes rimmed with red. “There’s just one more thing I want,” he murmurs.

“Anything,” she replies, practically beaming. “Oh, Seokga, you don’t know how happy this makes me.”

“I want you to know”—Seokga bows his head closer to hers—“that you made a mistake. All of this, it just might have worked—if you hadn’t killed Kisa.”

Jang’s eyes widen. She tries to jerk away, but Seokga holds tight.

“And what’s more…” Seokga draws his sword up with his other hand—and plunges it through the tiger-shifter’s heart. “You can never out-trick a trickster,” he spits.

Triumphant, he waits for Jang to crumple to the ground.

She does not.

Jang sighs, looking down at the sword in her chest. “I wish you hadn’t done that. It makes things so much more complicated.”

What in the fucking seven hells? Seokga gapes at her, withdraws his sword. And plunges it back into her. Nothing. Jang Heejin looks bored. Around him, the ineo are laughing, the sound like the sea hissing and bubbling in the heat. Kisa’s alarm surges down the red thread.

—blue—it’s blue—all along the blade—blue blood—she’s—

Slowly, Seokga looks down at the long blade of his sword. Sure enough, blue blood drips from it, slow and thick.