“Hwanin had the unique capability to annoy many people,” Seokga mutters. It has been years since he was a detective of any kind, but even now, he can feel himself slipping back into the role. His annoyance at Hwanin is fading, replaced by a cold, simmering anger.

Somebody on this ship murdered his brother, and shoved him into the role of babysitter.

Seokga is not happy. At all.

“They moved him,” he says, standing with help from his cane. “Somebody moved him here so that I would find him. There’s no sign of any struggle, and the floor is relatively clean. There should be significantly more blood around him than there is.” Seokga stares at the gore, the ruined flesh. Hwanin was powerful and physically strong. It would take a beast to put him down. “Without a coroner or a forensic pathologist”—Seokga thinks of Lee Dok-hyun with a familiar guilty pang—“I can’t place the exact time of death—”

“—but it’s quite obvious that it was between approximately seven-thirty and eight forty-five,” Kisa finishes, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, checking a thin silver watch on her wrist. “After he left the greenhouse party, and sometime before now. That’s a window of over an hour…”

“…on an extremely large boat, with an extremely large number of guests.” Seokga sneers. “But that doesn’t matter. I have a rather solid suspicion of who did this.” With one last look at his brother’s body, he continues down the stairs.

“Wait—” Kisa pants. “You’re not going to just leave him there, are you? Shouldn’t we do something? A-a funeral? A…something?”

—his brother—shouldn’t just—his body—all that blood—

“You’re holding him,” he returns through clenched teeth. “Hwanin is fine. He’s a baby, but fine. Him as an infant might actually be a nice fucking change. No more of that holier-than-thou act for once, since he can’t talk. And his body will disintegrate in a few minutes. Probably into fucking glitter,” he mutters.

“Gnggblahberp,” sings the infant (tauntingly, Seokga thinks).

“Be quiet,” snaps Seokga.

Baby Hwanin sticks out his tongue and blows a happy raspberry.

“I really feel like you’re not taking this as seriously as you should,” Kisa pushes. “Somebody murdered the emperor of the gods. That’s—that’s the worst thing you could possibly do. It’s sacrilege.”

“I’ve tried it myself more than once.” Seokga reaches Deck 8’s landing, shoves open the door, and strides through. “A delightful pastime. I had a natural predilection for it.”

Kisa makes a small choking sound. He is forty percent sure it is another hidden, smothered sign of amusement. The other sixty percent of him is certain she’s actually horrified. Perhaps he’s one hundred percent sure she’s feeling a combination of the two.