“No,” snaps Seokga, breathing hard. “Stop lying. You know as well as I do that you did it to betray me the way I betrayed you—”

It is an old argument between them. One that constantly interrupts a newer friendship.

“Enough,” Hwanin retorts, a vein on his temple pulsing as he stands. “If you want to play this game, allow me a turn. Hani would never have died if you did not attempt a coup, if you did not get yourself exiled. If she had stayed away from meddling in your business. If you were a better detective and unmasked Eodum quicker. If she hadn’t drained her fox bead. If, if, if. There were so many variables in her death, brother. So many moving pieces and yet, in your anger, you only blame me. But who orchestrated her reincarnation?” Hwanin shakes his head, mouth a thin line. “So she is not what you expected or wanted, deep down. Fine. She is not going to be Hani, Seokga. She is going to be Kisa. I know that logically you are aware of this. So do not set unrealistic expectations for the girl. She doesn’t know you. There is an imbalance, don’t you think? You want something from her that she’s not ready to give.” His face gentles as Seokga flinches, hard wall of fury beginning to crumble. “Time, brother. Give her time. Humor her curiosity. Don’t push her away until you really know her. And let her get to know you.”

Tired. Seokga is so utterly tired as he stands there, shoulders slumped. The exhaustion weighing down his bones is ancient and lumbering. “I miss her,” he whispers. “I miss Hani.” He stares at the red thread, aching with the worst type of loss. The Ship of Theseus, Seokga thinks. Is it still the same ship? Is she still the same woman I loved?

“I know.”

“I would burn down the entire world just to see her again.”

“Unfortunately, I know you mean that literally.” Hwanin sighs. “Look, brother—I’ll call Dr. Jang over for an emergency session. But I know you, Seokga, and I know that you’ve likely decided to dramatically mope for the foreseeable future regardless of any professional intervention. So we’re going out tonight.”

Seokga swallows the pink pill that he must, every day, take at precisely seven o’clock. An anti-depressant, prescribed to him by Dr. Jang. Although he’s not sure it’s been doing much. He is practically drowning in misery.

“Are you ready?” Hwanin asks, hovering by the suite’s door.

He gives his brother a withering look.

“It will be fun,” the emperor says with forced cheer.