“I went up to Deck 10 after the greenhouse to be alone,” she explains. Kisa mentally catalogues her voice—steady but with a wavering edge that seems more due to emotion than anything else. “I don’t like it when people see me cry. When you came up, I followed because I wanted a chance to talk to you—alone,” Somi adds, glaring at Seokga. “I knew you in your past life, which I’m sure you’ve figured out by now. We were…We worked in…You were my…That’s not the point. I’m not sure how much you remember, but there are some things that I wanted to say, um, sorry for.” Her eyes grow glassy. “Obviously, I didn’t get a chance because of the dead body that I did not murder. Also…” Somi crosses her arms. “I don’t recommend that you dive into this murder investigation with Seokga. For one, he’s a shitty detective. Last time, he never even suspected me—or Hyun-tae—before the Dark Days began.”

“Who?” asks Kisa, frowning—was Hyun-tae the name of the eoduksini’s host body? Its anonymity has been preserved for years. How was Nam Somi involved in the Dark Days?—but Somi plows on.

“For another, the last time you got involved with him on a case, you got yourself killed.”

“I’m…already dead.”

“And, by the way…” Somi clears her throat, ignoring Kisa’s matter-of-fact statement. Perhaps if she says it enough, it won’t bother her anymore. “It couldn’t have been me anyway. I don’t have claws,” she says very quietly. “Not long enough to murder anyone.” Eyes averted, she holds up her hands. Snikt. Kisa’s heart falls as the dark stubs, the ragged edges, protrude from between the gumiho’s knuckles as if somebody had taken a blade and…

A long silence follows.

Seokga slowly sets down his sword and reverts it into a cane. When Kisa looks at him, his face is emotionless, but his thoughts are almost resignedly pitying.

—looks—painful—not—to dig out—heart—can’t—be—suspect—how did she—die—shouldn’t have said—in greenhouse—still—hate her—

Kisa takes a careful step toward the gumiho, after gently depositing Hwanin into a reluctant Seokga’s arms. To her exasperation, he does not look thrilled, and holds Hwanin at an arm’s length. “Can I see?” she asks softly. “I’m a doctor,” she reminds Somi as she hesitates. After another long moment, Somi gives Kisa her hands. The gumiho’s face is full of shame. “How did this happen?”

Somi shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Kisa can respect that. “Okay,” she murmurs and bends closer to the ruined claws. Gumiho anatomy. She rummages around in the shelves of her mind before finding the information she needs, tucked away under her first semester at NSUMD.